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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24627754">screaming the name (of a foreigner's god)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/eat_crow/pseuds/eat_crow'>eat_crow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), F/F, M/M, a lot of philosophy about destiny wrapped up in a gay burrito, late start canon au?, merlin is taken in by the druids instead of going to camelot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:21:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,403</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24627754</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/eat_crow/pseuds/eat_crow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After being gravely injured in battle Arthur is saved by a man named Merlin, a powerful sorcerer and ally to the druids. Their friendship will prove to upend everything Arthur has ever known to be true and change the course of history - or rather, set it back on track again.</p><p>You will find that knowledge of your fate makes it no less inescapable.</p><p>[[ABANDONED]]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>119</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>253</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Shelter from the Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so BASICALLY this is just a canon divergence au where arthur knows about merlin and how powerful he is from the beginning, and they both are fully aware of their destiny. obviously things have changed beyond canon to make this divergence possible (re: everyone isn't dead within a week of would-be episode 1).<br/>i'm bad at explaining myself but i've put a lot of thought into this, i swear.<br/>you can listen to the chapter title track <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-gsDBuHwqbM">here</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> Come in, she said </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> I'll give ya shelter from the storm </em></p><p> </p><p>Arthur can remember screams and battle cries and kicking horses. Dust filling his mouth and scratching his throat. The ear splitting clang of sword on sword. The screech of sword through armor. He can remember blood, his own, not his own, on his face and on his hands. Hot, rotting meat. A horrible pain somewhere, everywhere. He can remember the blazing sun in his eyes and his head swimming, swimming, swimming, like someone pumped his skull full of cold water. And then…</p><p>And then he's in a bed.</p><p>He doesn’t stir immediately. He’s been captured as a prisoner, it’s the only explanation he can come to. There’s no weapon at his disposal, and his body aches. He strains his ears and hears nothing but a distant campfire and the chatter that comes with it. There's laughter and music, the beating of drums and howling of voices singing in a language he doesn't understand. </p><p>Then, after a long pause, there’s the sound of a page turning. Arthur tenses and listens hard. The noise comes again, unmistakeable. It’s from behind him. When he’s confident he’s safe, he cracks an eye open.</p><p>He’s in a tent. It’s dimly lit and open to the elements, barely serving as a lean-to with its canvas roof not even standing height. He can see the campfire in his peripheral, just beyond the borders of the tent, where a group of people eat and dance. Arthur faces an earthen wall. His shadow flickers against it, and he can see another outline looming over him like a ghost.</p><p>Arthur closes his eyes and rolls to his other side. The page turning sound stops. He’s being watched. He takes a deep breath and sighs, pretending to relax back into unconsciousness. He doesn’t open his eyes again until the page turns once, then twice. </p><p>He looks to the ghost in the tent and finds a man, easily Arthur’s age if not a touch younger. The man sits with one knee up to his chest and his other gangly leg splayed lazily on the ground. A book rests on his thigh and his chin is tucked to his chest as he reads. He chews idly on his thumb nail, his fingers long and slender. His dark hair obscures his eyes, curling just slightly at the ends, but Arthur knows he must be squinting to make out any words in the dim light. A small flame hovers over the pages. It flickers without a wick or candle, simply floating. Nausea curls in his stomach at the sight.</p><p>Arthur's sword sits between them. </p><p>It takes him a fraction of a second to roll forward and wrap his fingers around the leather bound hilt. Every nerve in his body screams at the effort, begs him to still, but he pushes past it with a grunt. With a twist of his wrist the point of his blade touches the man's neck. The flame snuffs out of existence in a wisp of white smoke.</p><p>"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you this second."</p><p>The man raises his head slowly and calmly. He hasn't even flinched. The dim light makes the curve of his cheekbones more severe, darkens the hollows of his eyes underneath his eyelashes. He raises his hands in what Arthur hopes is surrender. "Because I could kill you in half the time," he says.</p><p>Before Arthur can comprehend what's happened he waves his hand to the side, his blue eyes flash brilliant gold, and Arthur’s sword goes flying. It imbeds itself in the dirt wall. He couldn't dream of pulling it back out again, it's up to the hilt. He looks from his defunct sword and back to the sorcerer, eyes wide and incredulous.</p><p>The sorcerer doesn't even try to hide the smug curl of his lips.</p><p>"You'll tell me your name," Arthur demands, and he hates, hates how the sorcerer’s smile is too wide to be polite and bright enough to be genuinely kind, hates that his body language is open and comfortable when he offers a hand in greeting. </p><p>“Merlin.” He drops his hand when it’s clear Arthur won’t take it. “You came upon our camp, mortally wounded and delirious. I saved your life, my friend.”</p><p>“I’m not your friend,” he snaps. He’s so unused to this, to being powerless. From his birth he’s been a trained warrior and the king’s son, and the comfort in knowing that he won’t be overpowered in ability or rank is one rarely missed. Here his training means nothing. Not against someone who could best him without raising a finger. Here his lineage is a curse rather than a privilege. What would Merlin do if he knew who Arthur truly was, the son of a man hell-bent on ridding the world of sorcerers? The prickly heat of a cornered man’s temper makes his lungs tingle.</p><p>Merlin regards him carefully, looks him up and down. He sighs gently.</p><p>“I’m not asking for gratitude,” he says, “but I’d appreciate a little less bitterness.”</p><p>“Well, you’ll find neither from me. I wouldn’t thank a sorcerer - let alone a criminal.”</p><p>“I’m not a criminal.” He straightens his shoulders, and Arthur is loath to find Merlin is taller than him.</p><p>“Sorcery--”</p><p>“Isn’t a crime outside of Camelot.” Merlin takes a step closer to Arthur. It’s all he can do to stand with his back straight and chin up. He curls his fingers into fists to quell their shaking. “You cannot enforce a law that doesn’t exist.”</p><p>Fear makes his legs weak, but Arthur is stubborn, and he doesn’t back down. He’d rather be struck down than cower. Merlin seems to be the same. His eyes bore into Arthur’s, steadfast and confident but sad, almost. Pleading.</p><p>“Get some rest, sir knight,” he says, finally relenting. “We don’t want you here more than you do.”</p><p>Arthur goes to argue that he’ll do no such thing, but Merlin’s eyes flash gold and he feels so incredibly heavy. His eyelids can’t stay open a moment longer.</p><p>His only thought as his legs give way and he collapses is that it couldn’t hurt to rest his eyes.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Arthur stares at the roof of the tent and wishes he were dead.</p><p>No, that’s too defeatist.</p><p>He wishes Merlin were dead, and he was on his way back home.</p><p>Pale light filters in and cloaks the tent in that heavy peace of early morning. He hears children running past and cackling to each other, only to be scolded and quieted by adults. Merlin isn't with him, but the bedroll and heap of blankets next to his bed shows he slept there.</p><p>He rises to sit, his lips pulled back in a grimace. Without adrenaline fueling him it feels like he's been trampled by his own horse. He lets out a tight breath and touches just below his ribs, where he can feel the deep divot of a new scar and the stitching pain that comes with it.</p><p>"Oh, you're awake." Merlin's voice startles him. His hand jerks down to his hip before he remembers his sword isn't at his side. Merlin smiles, the glance from Arthur’s hip to his sword almost unnoticeable, and raises two wooden bowls in his hands. "I brought breakfast."</p><p>Arthur stares at him blankly. He's torn between a <em> no thank you </em> and a <em> not hungry </em>, but he isn't given the chance to argue. Merlin shoves the bowl into his hands.</p><p>As he leans over to give him his food, the light catches on a silver pendant that hangs from Merlin's neck with a leather band.</p><p>A triskelion.</p><p>"That's a druid symbol," he says, and stares at the metal pendant. Merlin lowers himself to the ground with a grunt and crosses his legs.</p><p>"It is."</p><p>"This--" Arthur cranes his neck and sees two women walking past hand in hand, telling jokes and whistling, on their way to the campfire from last night. It burns fresh in the morning, and several people sit around the fire and eat with their fingers and with spoons. He ducks his head and lowers his voice. "This is a <em> druid </em> camp," he says.</p><p>"You're awfully bright," Merlin says blandly. He scoops a spoonful of porridge into his mouth and talks around it, "where did they get you?"</p><p>"You're a druid."</p><p>"No," Merlin says. "Well," he clicks his tongue, "no. I just live with them.” He taps the bottom of the bowl with his spoon, and his blue eyes are icy when they meet Arthur’s. “They took me in, because it wasn’t safe for me in Camelot.” Arthur’s stomach flips.</p><p>“Maybe you shouldn’t have learned magic,” he defends.</p><p>“I was born with it.”</p><p>“That’s not possible.”</p><p>“You don’t know anything about magic, you don’t know what’s possible and what isn’t.”</p><p>Arthur steels himself and moves to face Merlin. He holds in any pained noise that could possibly escape and turns, his bare feet planted on the cold ground. He sets the bowl to the side. His mouth draws into a hard line.</p><p>"Why are you doing this? Why have you helped me?" Merlin sets his bowl aside as well.</p><p>"Because we're not like you," he says. "The druids are a peaceful people. A good people." His hands curl into fists in his lap and uncurl again. "When you go back to Camelot I want you to remember that these people, who you've hunted, and branded evil, and turned into pariahs, were given the choice to let you die and we saved you instead. The next time you are ordered to end a druid’s life I want you to remember we showed you mercy, and I’d like you to do the same."</p><p>Arthur's chest is tight, and he takes a deep breath to dispel the ache. He can't meet Merlin's eyes, but he can still feel his gaze boring into him. He imagines his father's face, his expectant eyes and downturned mouth, wanting him to tell stories of cruelty and barbarism, and the frustration when Arthur can only tell of joyous people that love to dance and sing, who showed him a kindness they'd never receive in return.</p><p>"That's… quite smart," he says. He looks over to Merlin with the hint of a smile, wanting more than anything to dispel the tension that lays heavy over them, and tacks on, "for a sorcerer."</p><p>Merlin at least has the humor to snort.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The days pass slowly while he heals. Merlin advises him against speaking to the druids, and so he stays inside the tent. He sleeps often. When he isn't sleeping he goes through Merlin's things - mostly his books. This doesn't seem to be an issue when Merlin is around, either, the druids have an open relationship with privacy that Arthur is unused to. Merlin likes to lean over Arthur’s shoulder without alerting him of his presence and startle him when he remarks that they’re near his favorite part of the story. </p><p>Eventually, though, Arthur grows bored of fables and tall tales. When he does, he talks to Merlin.</p><p>It's surprisingly easy to do so. Merlin's company is natural to him, less stiff than with his noble counterparts. Merlin doesn't straighten his back when in Arthur's presence, doesn’t call him <em> sire </em> and <em> my lord </em>, he doesn’t snap his mouth shut when he says something that offends but rather quirks an eyebrow and mocks him for being offended at all. No one is ever so bold with him, save royalty themselves, and even then they are bound to the niceties of court. Merlin treats him as if he’s normal, a friend and nothing more.</p><p>Of course, Merlin doesn't know Arthur's the crowned prince of Camelot. A small, forgivable detail, Arthur assures himself.</p><p>"You, a town menace? I can't say I'm surprised," Arthur says over their fourth dinner together, where Merlin gave the animated story of falling a tree onto a neighbor's house back in his home village. He's rather good at storytelling. He knows the right things to say, and when, to make Arthur laugh. His voice lowers and raises to match the people in his stories. It's clear he's told the story many times before, likely at the campfire that blazes every night.</p><p>"I doubt you were any better," he says. He tears a piece of bread from the small loaf they share. "Or were you one of those always following the rules, goody two shoes types?"</p><p>"I was not." Arthur smiles and looks down to his bowl. "I was quite a handful, I'll admit." He laughs and says, "My father was always getting me out of trouble. Though, in my defense, Morgana was just as bad, if not worse. She had my father’s favor, though - the woman gets away with things I never could." Merlin gives him a quizzical look, and he clarifies. "My father's ward. Her parents were close friends to my father, and he took her in when they died. She's practically my sister."</p><p>"That sounds awful."</p><p>"It hasn't been easy, but she's grown into a wonderful woman without them."</p><p>"No, I meant having to be your sister."</p><p>"Oh, piss off, Merlin," he says as he kicks dirt onto Merlin's shoes. Merlin grins and kicks the dirt back, but only succeeds in drowning their bread in leaves and soil. Arthur gives an exaggerated groan and laments the loss of their bread to his clumsiness, but smiles when Merlin rolls his eyes and shoves his arm.</p><p>Arthur watches Merlin’s lingering smile as he eats what’s left of his meal, and a slimy little coil of dread curls in his stomach when he realizes he could never return home and be perfectly content, and that he has no choice either way.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"I will follow you to Camelot's borders, but no further," Merlin tells him as he fills a knapsack with supplies. "I expect you can find your way back from there."</p><p>Arthur nods and winces as he bends over to pull on his boots. He's still in pain. He's lied, though, and claimed he's healed enough to go home. He can feel the druids' patience with him wearing thin. For all they've done for him he hates the thought of overstaying his welcome. </p><p>And Camelot needs him, he reminds himself. He used to not need such a reminder, the burden of his duty weighed heavy at the front of his mind, but now the thought passes through and by unless he tells it to stay.</p><p>Merlin stands over him, and Arthur leans away when Merlin's hip touches his shoulder. He mutters another foreign phrase and yanks Arthur's sword from the wall. His wrist rolls with a lack of familiarity of its balance, and he's more than happy to hand it back over. Arthur rises to take it in turn.</p><p>"You're sure you want me to have this?" Arthur asks. He can't hold back his smile at having his sword back in his hands. With his armor lost it’s more than a weapon to him, it’s a comfort, a touch of familiarity and home. He grips the leather hilt tightly and relaxes his fingers to let the sword’s weight settle in his hand.</p><p>"Is that a threat?" Merlin is smiling at him in turn.</p><p>"Absolutely." He turns the sword in his hand and twists his wrist to let it twirl in his grip, but keeps the blade directed away from Merlin knowing how quickly it could be taken from him again. He sheaths the sword into the leather scabbard at his hip and turns fully back to Merlin. "I'm ready whenever you are."</p><p>"Then we're all set." He ducks his head in thanks when Arthur stands back and gestures for him to exit the tent first. The camp falls quiet when Arthur follows, and he tries to ignore how everyone stares at him.</p><p>The walk is quiet and slow. The sun is high in the sky when Merlin suggests a break, and though Arthur argues they should continue he's grateful. His brow is soaked with sweat and the ache in his body has become impossible to ignore. They sit under the shade of an ancient tree and pretend Arthur isn’t struggling to breathe.</p><p>Merlin looks up from digging in his pack for a waterskin. He watches Arthur expectantly.</p><p>"Yes, Merlin?"</p><p>"You said something."</p><p>"No, I didn't."</p><p>"You said my name, I thought."</p><p>Arthur shakes his head and looks him over carefully. "Suffering a bit of heat exhaustion, there?" Merlin scoffs and tosses the waterskin to him.</p><p>"It'd be my luck to hallucinate your boorish voice, and not a beautiful woman."</p><p>"Hang on," Arthur says with a laugh, "I am not <em> boorish </em>."</p><p>"I said your voice was boorish, not that you were boorish," Merlin corrects, "but feel free to take it personally." </p><p>"I'll show you boorish--" Arthur throws the waterskin back, and it smacks Merlin square in the face. Merlin's eyes flash gold. The tree behind him creaks, and a thin branch whips him upside the head. Arthur goes to reach for something else to throw when Merlin's hands shoot up.</p><p>"Truce," he says, eyebrows raised in warning. Arthur stills.</p><p>"Truce." They both slowly relax, eyes still stuck on each other. Grins break out on their faces. And if they sit in the shade for longer than necessary, neither of them mentions it. </p><p>Merlin grows more odd the closer they get to Camelot's border. At first Arthur is able to write it off as discomfort - Merlin hides his pendant within his tunic and stops using magic all together. He looks over his shoulder more and jumps at every small noise, barely able to laugh when Arthur teases him for it.</p><p>Then he starts twitching.</p><p>Little twitches in his nose at first, where he glances over to Arthur and then looks away just as quickly with furrowed brows. It escalates to full jerks of his shoulder. Merlin rubs his eyes with his knuckles and sighs in frustration.</p><p>"You're not going to have an episode, are you?" Arthur asks, and Merlin answers with a shrug. He picks up the pace to meet Merlin's strides. "Is something wrong?"</p><p>"Someone's calling to me," he says. Arthur furrows his brows. "Creatures of magic, we can-- we can communicate through it, our magic. Someone's been calling out to me. They're saying my name."</p><p>"Is it the druids? Are they in trouble?" Arthur turns to face where they've come from, but Merlin shakes his head.</p><p>"It's coming from that direction," he says, and points his finger where they're headed. "It's coming from Camelot." </p><p>"A creature of magic in Camelot?"</p><p>"A powerful one as well," he says. He bites his lower lip. "It wants me to come to it, I can feel it."</p><p>"You'll go to it?"</p><p>"I think I have to."</p><p>They share a laden look, and continue onwards.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Arthur takes the lead once they're in the borders of Camelot. He knows the way better than Merlin, who admits he's only been inside her borders once before. They stay quiet as they walk despite Arthur's attempts at conversation.</p><p>They make camp when they're less than a day's walk from the castle. Merlin lays on the cold ground, hugs his arms tightly to his chest, and turns his back to the fire and Arthur. He doesn't move to eat until Arthur throws sticks and small rocks at him, and even then he's moody about it.</p><p>"I never took you for such a girl," Arthur says, trying to elicit a response. Merlin gives a humorless <em> ahuh </em> and lays on his back. "You're worried about being in Camelot." It isn't a question.</p><p>"Why wouldn't I be?" Merlin snaps. He turns over until he's on his side facing Arthur. The fire reflects in his eyes. Arthur can see the leather band of his pendant peeking out from his tunic. "Camelot is a horrible place to be for someone like me. Oh I've been to the castle, once before. The moment I stepped into the citadel I saw a man executed for sorcery." He looks away from Arthur and into the flickering fire. "Beheaded, right before his mother. That poor woman--" he swallows and his chin trembles, and Arthur fights the urge to reach out, to do something, "I can still hear how she <em> wailed </em>. All I could think of was my mother, what she'd do if something happened to me. She sent me off to Camelot to see a family friend, she thought he could help me control my magic. She had no idea how bad it was here. Neither of us did."</p><p>Merlin shakes his head. "You just-- you don't-- you couldn't understand. To see a sorcerer die before you, is-- well, it's just another sorcerer. But to me, it's-- it's one of my people." He scrubs his face with his hands and rolls over again until his back faces Arthur's once more. "So no, Arthur, I'm not over the moon to be in Camelot. And I'd like for you to not expect it from me." </p><p>Arthur wants to be angry, but he can't seem to be. Merlin's speech only cored out a hole in his gut and filled it back up with guilt. Mainly because he was right - he can't even remember the man Merlin spoke of. Maybe he'd been at the execution, maybe he hadn't been, so many faces and so many deaths and he shrugged them off as <em> just sorcerers </em>. Almost worse than his father's pure hatred of all things magic is Arthur's indifference in the face of it.</p><p>"I--" Arthur licks his lips and crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry."</p><p>Merlin doesn't respond. Arthur spends the rest of the night with his thoughts in a fretful whirlwind.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Merlin is a little more talkative the next day, after a night’s rest and his burden shared by his friend. He responds to Arthur's jokes, and cracks a few of his own. All feels right with the world, so to speak. Except for the despairing looks Merlin gives to the castle in the distance when he thinks Arthur isn't looking.</p><p>The moment it comes into sight Arthur bounds onto the main path in big, excited steps. The gates of Camelot loom before them. There are no fires, no crumbling walls, no wartime barricades. The citadel is blissfully quiet. It takes everything he's got not to run that last home stretch. Merlin stays just behind him, twitchy and jumpy.</p><p>The guards don't flag him down as they pass through, or even give him a second look - they expect Arthur to come back harried, weighed down by his armor, not coming back in full strides wearing barely so much as his tunic. A guilty part of him is grateful that it buys him a little more time.</p><p>"You haven't gotten any more, uh," he wiggles his fingers near Merlin's temple, "you know, have you?" Merlin leans back and bats Arthur's hand away. </p><p>"No," he says, and he looks up and around at the houses and villagers of the lower town. His shoulders are tense and his eyes are wide with an uncomfortable kind of wonder, the way one would look at a battalion stretching across the horizon. Merlin was raised in a small village, and Arthur still isn’t sure how low he lived with the druids. He wonders how long it’s been since Merlin saw something made to last. "Whoever they are, they've gone quiet."</p><p>"Well, don't worry. You'll have a place to stay until you find it." Arthur gives Merlin a smile and bumps their shoulders together. "It's the least I could do, for all you've done for me. I owe you my life."</p><p>"Thank you," he says, and Arthur takes pride in the humble smile Merlin gives him.</p><p>They get all the way to the citadel without raising any eyebrows. Arthur is considering better training for his knights when he sees Leon, and Leon sees him.</p><p>Leon shoves everything in his hands into the arms of a squire who doesn’t react quickly enough and drops all of it. </p><p>“Prince Arthur!”</p><p>“<em> Prince--! </em>” Merlin halts in his footsteps, and when Arthur looks to him he sees his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes wide, lips working around words that he can’t voice. Arthur at least gives him a sheepish look, but it doesn’t last long. He quickens his stride to meet Leon halfway, and he laughs as Leon wraps his arms around him and lifts him off his feet in an uncharacteristic disregard for his rank. Leon’s grin is likely to split his face in two.</p><p>“Arthur, we-- we thought you’d died!” He says, and holds his prince at arm’s length to better look at him. “There were search parties, and patrols, and the king--” Leon puts his hand to his head. “Where <em> were </em> you, my lord?”</p><p>“I was injured in the battle against Cenred’s men,” he says. “I-- I don’t know, they said I was delirious, I must’ve gotten lost.”</p><p>“They?”</p><p>“The druids.” Arthur shakes his head. “I’ve a lot to tell my father, sir Leon,” he says. “Where is he?”</p><p>“He’s in a council meeting, but I’m sure he’d survive the interruption.” They nod to each other, and Arthur looks to Merlin, who hasn’t moved, and who stares at Arthur with what borders on contempt. It makes his chest ache.</p><p>“Will you join us?” He asks.</p><p>“To see the king?” His voice is tinged in a disgust that makes Leon’s eyebrow raise.</p><p>“You’d rather stay out here, then, alone?” Arthur purposefully looks around the square, where people mill about on their way from one place to another. Merlin clenches his fist, stuck for only a moment before he takes a step towards Arthur. “Good man,” he says, and claps Merlin’s shoulder.</p><p>“Leon,” Leon says to Merlin, and extends a hand. He takes it with a harrowed smile.</p><p>“Merlin.”</p><p>“What is your business with the prince?”</p><p>“I’m…” Arthur can feel Merlin’s eyes burning into him. When he glances over he’s holding his slender fingers to his chest, where Arthur knows the triskelion rests under his tunic. “A friend.”</p><p>The trio walks as quickly as they can to the council chambers. Arthur takes the stairs two at a time, and rarely looks behind him to ensure he’s still followed. The scar at his side burns when they’ve made their way out of the stairwell, and sweat prickles the back of his neck, but he doesn’t slow. He can’t. Not when he’s so close.</p><p>The guards startle when they see him.</p><p>“My lord!” </p><p>“I’d like to see my father,” he says. They jump aside to allow him entrance. He pushes the doors open and the entire room falls silent. His father, bent over a map and bickering with a council member, pauses and looks to the door.</p><p>“Arthur?” He asks, his voice delicate. Arthur nods, and King Uther moves away from the table and towards his son. “I thought you were dead.” His hand hovers over Arthur’s upper arm, his eyes full of that untapped love all men long to share, and he gives Arthur’s shoulder a squeeze before it drops back to his side. </p><p>“I must speak with you, father,” he says, “on a matter of utmost importance.”</p><p>“Of course,” he says, and waves him on.</p><p>“It’s about the druids.”</p><p>“Is that where you were? They were holding you captive?”</p><p>“No, father, they saved my life.” Arthur tries not to look over to Merlin, tries not to draw attention to him, but remembering he’s right behind him gives him the incentive to continue. Merlin journeyed into the heart of Camelot and stands before Uther as a sorcerer and friend of the druids. Arthur can’t imagine the courage that takes, how brave he must be. The least he can do in return is stand up for Merlin’s people to his father. He straightens his shoulders and clasps his hands behind his back, knowing his father trusts men with open and confident body language.</p><p>“I believe,” he says, and licks his lips, “I believe we are misguided in our view of the druids. They had every reason to let me die, and yet they nursed me back to health. I believe they’re a peaceful and good people, and we’re wrong to treat them the way we do.” Uther stares at him for a long moment, and for that one instant Arthur is foolish enough to believe he said something to truly change his father’s perspective.</p><p>“Clearly,” he says, “they knew how foolish it would be to kill the prince of Camelot.”</p><p>“No, sir, they didn’t know who I was. I can tell you with complete confidence,” he allows himself a glance in Merlin’s direction, “they believed I was merely a knight, and nothing more.”</p><p>“I doubt that highly,” he says. “How do you know they would tell you, if they knew? They likely intended to earn your favor, to corrupt you into tolerance of their ways.” His tone is gentle but dismissive.</p><p>“But father--”</p><p>“Really, Arthur, you must learn to be less naive. They’re creatures of <em> magic </em>, to manipulate is their nature.”</p><p>“These people would never hurt anyone, and we have caused them so much pain--”</p><p>“Arthur! I’ve had just about enough of this,” Uther says. “Do you truly wish to have your homecoming sullied by such silly matters? I’ll speak no more of it.”</p><p>“It isn’t fair, father,” he begs, “you must listen--”</p><p>“I am the <em> king </em> !” Uther shouts, and Arthur’s shoulders tense. He doesn’t know when he lost the ability to look into his father’s eyes, but he dare not do it now. “I am under no orders to listen to <em> you </em> , Arthur! It is your duty to listen to <em> me </em>!”</p><p>That familiar feeling has crept up his back, and he feels all of two feet tall. He can’t will himself to speak, can’t even raise his eyes from the polished buttons of his father’s coat. He takes a deep breath and thinks of Merlin, determined to not look like a coward, and tries one last time. Uther cuts him off before he can even speak.</p><p>“You’ll be confined to your chambers,” he says. “Gaius will see to you. I believe the druids have enchanted you for their gain. There’s no other reason you would speak out of turn on their behalf.”</p><p>Guards accost him, grab him by the arms, but he shrugs them off. His face is hot with embarrassment from being reprimanded in front of so many people, and his shoulders are heavy with the shame of letting Merlin down. He can’t even meet his eyes when they’re escorted out of the room.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>The doors are all too loud when they shut, and Arthur sulks over to his window. He takes a goblet left on his desk in his hand and glares at it. He draws his arm back and throws it across the room with all his strength, and days old wine splatters the floor. The goblet clangs against the wall and Arthur's temper takes a little pride in the massive dent left in the rim. He leans against his window pane and rubs the stubble lining his chin that he's been too lazy to shave away.</p><p>“There was nothing you could do,” comes Merlin’s voice, and Arthur jumps and turns to him. Merlin makes his way across the room and sits on the chest at the end of his bed. “Sorry,” he says with a light laugh, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”</p><p>“I wasn’t scared, I was--” he presses his lips together, “I was merely reacting to your presence. I have a warrior’s reflexes.”</p><p>“Of course, sire.” The word drips with sarcasm.</p><p>“You understand why I couldn’t tell you,” he says. Merlin shrugs, and his lips pull down.</p><p>“Yes.” He leans back, and his elbows rest on Arthur’s plush bed. “You could have, though. It wouldn’t change anything.”</p><p>“You’re a better man than I am.” He laughs to lighten it, but the look on his friend’s face shows it didn’t do so enough.</p><p>“I don’t think I am, Arthur. You tried.”</p><p>“I failed.”</p><p>“What were you to do? He's a tyrant of a king. He wouldn't listen to anyone's word, even yours." Arthur doesn't defend him. He doesn't even think he wants to. He pulls his chair back from his desk and sits. He rests his head in his hands and refuses to look to Merlin. "Arthur, you said it yourself. We didn't help you for our own gain. I didn't think you'd say anything to the king, I never expected that from you."</p><p>"You don't have to comfort me."</p><p>"Fine," he moves to sit against the edge of Arthur's desk, his knee bumping Arthur's right elbow, and ducks his head to force him to make eye contact, "then stop moping about like a child." Arthur snaps out of his reverie to give Merlin a hard look, lip curled back.</p><p>"Merlin--"</p><p>"Who was it the king sent to see you? Gaius?" He says it like <em> gay-us </em>.</p><p>"<em> Gaius </em>, yes." He straightens some papers on his desk that were perfectly fine to begin with. "Our court physician."</p><p>"There's something familiar about that," he says, "but it's been so many years."</p><p>"It's known he consorted with sorcerers in the past, maybe you saw him at the meetings." Merlin gives a dry <em> aha, ha, ha </em>. He bites his cheek and stares over his shoulder at the door.</p><p>"I could swear--"</p><p>The door opens with a clang, and an older man shuffles in. His white hair hangs down past his shoulders, and his robes drag the floor. He carries a medicine bag that clinks with the glass vials held inside. His cane clicks every other step.</p><p>"Uther tells me you've been enchanted, sire," he announces as he enters. Arthur leans back and rolls his eyes.</p><p>"I assure you Gaius, I haven't been."</p><p>"Ah, yes," Gaius says as he drops his medicine bag on the desk, "my concerns are put to ease now that I have your word. I've found all patients are completely correct about their conditions, in all cases." Merlin snickers, tongue between his teeth. "You, boy, go fetch me some water."</p><p>"Oh, I'm not--" Merlin shakes his head, but Gaius lifts his eyebrow and levels him with a stern look, and Merlin clears his throat as he rises to obey him. "Yes sir," he mutters, and hurries out the door.</p><p>"You can't believe my father," Arthur says, when they're left alone.</p><p>"I don't have to believe him," he says, "I just have to obey him." He pats Arthur's shoulder. </p><p>"That's not how it should be. You should follow a king because you know what he does is right," Arthur says. He lets Gaius pull his eyelid down and stare at his eye, though it feels rather pointless.</p><p>"You're a good boy, Arthur," he says. Arthur holds in his argument that he's well into his twenties now. "Maybe it will be different when it's your time. But for now you must do what your father says." </p><p>Arthur sighs through his nose and looks away. He lets a moment of silence pass with Gaius poking him and prodding him. Arthur lifts his tunic to allow Gaius to inspect the scar at his side. It's still bruised and feverish, but Gaius blames it on Arthur's refusal to rest and not shoddy magic.</p><p>"Just as I suspected," Gaius says, "no trace of enchantment." He doesn't even attempt a smile, and his tone is more forlorn than Arthur can understand. Almost like he wanted the prince to be enchanted, like it would be easier, like Arthur defending the druids of his own free will pains him somehow.</p><p>"Gaius, have you ever met anyone named Merlin?"</p><p>"Merlin?" He considered for a moment. "I've never met anyone named Merlin, though I did know of one. I was close with his mother, the poor woman.”</p><p>“Poor woman?”</p><p>“Merlin disappeared several years ago. He was journeying here, to see me.” Gaius turns to his medicine bag and takes the cork off a vial just to cork it again. “His mother was a woman named Hunith. She sent him to live with me for a time, she thought I could help him. He had some… unique challenges.” Gaius doesn’t turn back to him. “I never met the boy. For all I know, he never even made it to Camelot. Why do you ask?"</p><p>"No reason," Arthur says. He looks to the door when Merlin slips back in, a cup of water in his hand. His cheeks are flushed, and there's the hint of a smile on his face. "Took you long enough."</p><p>"I… got lost," Merlin says, almost like he's proud. He hands the cup to Gaius, who pours something from his bag into it and hands it to Arthur.</p><p>"White willow, for the pain and swelling," he informs, and urges him to drink it. He places the empty vial back into his bag and ties it shut with deft fingers. "Quite a strong enchantment you were under, sire," he says, and ignores Arthur's look of confusion to continue, "you're lucky it was harmless, or I might not have been able to cure you of it." His eyes burn into Arthur's until realization dawns on him.</p><p>"Oh! Yes! I-- good job, for getting to me in time. Thank you, Gaius." Gaius nods and adjusts the strap of his medicine bag over his shoulder properly.</p><p>"I suggest…" Gaius stops, pauses, and starts again, "I believe it would be best, if you did not mention the druids to your father again." With that he bows and takes his leave, and the two men are left alone again. Merlin falls into Arthur's bed and kicks off his boots with a small remark about how comfortable a prince's bedding is. Arthur swirls the tonic in his cup and watches it come dangerously close to the rim.</p><p>"What's your mother's name?" Arthur asks quietly.</p><p>"And I should tell you because…?"</p><p>"Just answer the question." Merlin groans and turns over so he lies on his stomach, and it rumples the perfectly tucked sheets. He props his head up on his hands and pretends to pick at a thread on the bedcovers that isn't there.</p><p>"Hunith. Her name is Hunith." Arthur hums. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me why that's so important."</p><p>"I think you need to have a talk with Gaius, is all."</p><p>Merlin doesn't have that talk with Gaius. He cites exhaustion and Arthur's bed just being so, so comfortable, but there's an uneasiness in his hands as he frets with turning down the bed covers that begs Arthur to leave the matter alone.</p><p>"When I said I'd give you a place to stay, you are aware I didn't mean my own bed, right?" He asks. Merlin pulls the red sheets up to his chin and lets out a contented sigh.</p><p>"Yes," he says, "but your sheets are so soft." He smiles wide, all bunched cheeks and squinted eyes. Arthur can't stop the smile that rises in return. He schools his face back into seriousness and leans back in his chair.</p><p>"Where do you expect me to sleep then?" He asks, and Merlin shuffles to the edge of the bed and pats the empty space. There's more than enough of it, even if he won't admit it. Merlin's extended hand only just reaches the middle of the mattress. "I'm not sharing a bed with you, Merlin."</p><p>"Like there isn't enough room? You could fit five of me in this thing."</p><p>"Five of you? Merlin, I don't even like you on your own, don't make me imagine more."</p><p>"You're hilarious," he says, and pulls the sheets all the way over his head. Only a peek of black hair sticks out, fanned over a pillow. His voice is muffled when he continues, "I've had a long day, Arthur, I'm going to bed. I don't care where you sleep."</p><p>It didn't take more than five minutes for heavy, sleep ridden breaths to come from the lump of sheets that was Merlin.</p><p>Arthur does sleep in his own bed eventually. He gathers the papers he was pretending to look through and sets them in a neat pile on his desk, and pulls his dirty tunic over his head to toss it to the ground. He didn't much care where it landed, a servant would come round to pick it up in the morning.</p><p>He slips under the sheets, careful but not overly so. Merlin squirms in his sleep when Arthur tugs more of the sheets to himself and lays heavy on the mattress. It had been a long day, comes the drowsy thought, and he doesn't think anything short of an army could wake him.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"What?" Is all that does it. Merlin, voice croaking from sleep and rolling over to face him. Arthur doesn't give much more than a grunt in response. "Wh'd you say?" He asks again. Arthur stubbornly keeps his eyes closed.</p><p>"Din't say anything."</p><p>"You did." Arthur growls and pulls the blankets over his head.</p><p>"I'll kill you, Merlin," he says. Merlin reaches out and shakes him.</p><p>"Wake up," he says, his voice an urgent whisper. Arthur peeks out over the blankets, his eyes bleary and stuck together with sleep. He glares openly at Merlin, whose hair sticks up at odd angles and whose face carries the red indentations of truly good sleep. His shoulders are tense. "It's calling."</p><p>"Good for you." He rolls over so he doesn't have to face Merlin any longer, and almost feels the warm embrace of sleep once more before the mattress dips and Merlin is in front of him and shaking his shoulder.</p><p>"Get up, Arthur," he says, "aren't you curious?"</p><p>"No," he answers, even though he is. Merlin’s gaze is heavy on him, and Arthur takes a deep breath. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and looks up at Merlin. "You'll not go without me."</p><p>"I don't know the way through the castle."</p><p>"You're useless," he says, and throws the covers off himself. Arthur parses through his wardrobe for a moment and finds a suitable tunic. "Where is this voice coming from, then?"</p><p>"Down," he says.</p><p>"<em> Down </em>," Arthur repeats. He levels his friend with a scathing look, and Merlin runs his fingers through his hair.</p><p>"Just-- down-- underneath, I mean. Underneath the castle." </p><p>"There aren't many places to look, then," he says. He buckles his belt around his waist and secures his sword at its proper place on his hip. Arthur doesn't think twice before he opens the door to his chambers. </p><p>Two guards turn to him with their halberds at the ready. Arthur shuts the door.</p><p>The pair look to each other, eyebrows raised.</p><p>"My father must not've given the order to release me from my chambers," he says. Merlin scratches behind his ear, face pinched into a grimace.</p><p>"I could, well, I could do… something," he says.</p><p>"Get on with it, then." Arthur gestures to the door and cocks his head to the side, eyes expectant. Merlin rubs his hands together and creeps to the door. He opens it only barely, so little the guards don't even turn. He whispers something under his breath, and the guards' knees give out from under them. Their armor clatters loudly as they hit the floor and still. Arthur crowds his space and opens the door further to survey the damage done.</p><p>"Merlin!" He looks to Merlin, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide, mouth turned down. "When I said do <em> something </em>, I didn't mean take them out!"</p><p>"They're only sleeping!" Merlin gestures to the men who doze peacefully, mouths open in a snore. "What did you expect me to do?"</p><p>"I don't know, distract them, maybe?"</p><p>"Well, next time <em> you </em> can handle the guards, since you know so much better," Merlin snaps, and shoves forward into the hallway.</p><p>"You don't know where you're going," Arthur calls out, but Merlin doesn't respond. He rolls his eyes and mutters a few choice words about sorcerers in general and Merlin specifically, and chases after him.</p><p>They journey to the underbelly of the castle. They wander through rooms and passages, but nothing yields results, and Merlin grows uneasy.</p><p>"I can feel it," he says, "it should be here."</p><p>"I would love to see it," Arthur says, and spreads his arms to show the lack of any creature near them. Merlin shakes his head. </p><p>"No, I mean it should be <em> here </em>." He jumps just barely to punctuate his point. "We're right on top of it."</p><p>"That's not possible, there isn't anything below us." </p><p>"There must be." Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to think of something he missed.</p><p>"There's nothing, except--" he pauses and turns just slightly to where they came from. "The siege tunnels," he says. He rubs his forehead. "But no one knows about them, save my father. I only know they exist because I stole some documents of his."</p><p>"Thief." Arthur punches Merlin in the shoulder. Merlin steps back and holds his shoulder with a hissed <em> ow! </em></p><p>"Come on, Merlin," he says, and starts off in the direction of the only siege tunnel entrance. He can’t imagine how a huge, powerful creature could dwell in the siege tunnels. It seems impossible, but <em> impossible </em> is a word increasingly foreign to him. So he tamps down his doubt and carries onward, and if there is no creature to be found he can always kill Merlin for rousing him from his sleep.</p><p>“This can’t be it,” Merlin says, when they reach the tunnel entrance. It’s been boarded up, and when Arthur kicks the dry rotted boards they disintegrate and crumble. “There’s no way something could survive down here.”</p><p>“This is the furthest below the castle we could possibly be,” Arthur says. “If it isn’t here, it isn’t anywhere.” He steps through the hole he made and waits for Merlin to join him. He grabs a torch off the wall and follows. His eyes are dark and forward in the flickering light. Arthur wonders, to himself, if Merlin is afraid.</p><p>The pair make their way down a set of stairs that quickly deteriorate from tile to bare earth. What starts as a stone wall becomes chiseled, rocky earth, and soon they’re in a tunnel that’s small enough to force them into a single file. Arthur takes the torch and leads at his own insistence. Merlin is so close he can feel his breath on his neck, and when a sudden dip takes them by surprise Merlin stumbles right into his back.</p><p>“Merlin!” He whispers, voice rough, and looks over his shoulder. Merlin’s eyebrows raise and his lips press together. One hand is on the small of Arthur’s back, the other extended under Arthur’s arm the way Arthur would aim his sword. </p><p>“Sorry!” </p><p>Arthur jerks his head to the side and they keep walking. Merlin gives him more space.</p><p>“There’s light up ahead,” Merlin whispers. Arthur nods. Silvery-blue light filters into the tunnel ahead. He marches forward as assured as he can manage, back straight and shoulders back, but his hand fidgets at his sword’s hilt.</p><p>They step into the light and are taken aback at what they’re met with. They stand at a ledge overlooking a cave so large they can barely see where it stops and where it ends. An underground river flows steady what feels like miles below, but is likely only a hundred or so feet. Jagged rocks rise from the ground to make a perch just a stone’s throw from where they stand.</p><p>“We know you’re here,” Merlin calls out. “Where are you?”</p><p>A chain clanks and jingles. Large, leathery wings beat against the air. Arthur draws his sword and side steps until Merlin is at his side, and he protects him with his free arm raised. Merlin’s hand extends and he looks frantically for the source of the sound.</p><p>A dragon glides unceremoniously into view and rests on the perch. He drops and raises in clumsy, jerking movements, weighed down by the heavy iron chain on his leg. His body is long and golden, and covered in shimmery scales that reflect the firelight from their torch. His talons are sharp enough to scrape rock and the size of Arthur's forearm. Even when his wings tuck to his side, the Dragon is massive.</p><p>Arthur drops the torch, and it falls from their ledge. Every clatter echoes as it smacks the jagged rocks on its way to the ground. The two men gape at the creature before them.</p><p>“Here I am,” the Dragon says, a teasing and patronizing lilt to his voice. He glances to Arthur and his head tilts to the side in confusion.</p><p>Arthur, chest tightening at the Dragon’s bright eyes boring into him, says, “Is there a problem?”</p><p>“Not at all,” the Dragon answers, and continues to stare at Arthur without apology or shame. His eyes hold an intelligence that sends a shiver down Arthur’s spine. He looks between them coyly. “Merlin is usually alone.”</p><p>“I’ve never been here before,” Merlin says.</p><p>“I’m aware,” the Dragon says. "You’re late.”</p><p>“Have you brought us here simply to confuse us with your riddles?” Arthur asks. Merlin nods his agreement.</p><p>“No,” the Dragon says, “I have an important matter to impart on, I suppose, you both.” The Dragon lays down on the perch of jagged rock, his forelegs crossed. Arthur can’t imagine it’s a comfortable position. “The two of you have a great destiny that awaits you. Arthur, it is your destiny to unite the lands of Albion, and bring magic back to Camelot after our long dark age. You will be the greatest king Albion has ever known.”</p><p>“Of course I will be,” Arthur says, and receives a scoff and an eye roll from his friend, “what does that have to do with Merlin?”</p><p>“Everything,” the Dragon says. “Without Merlin, you will never succeed. Without Merlin, there will be no Albion to rule at all.” Merlin looks to Arthur with a smug smile, and it’s Arthur’s turn to roll his eyes. “Merlin, your gift was given to you for a reason. You must protect Arthur from the threats he faces at every angle, from friend and foe alike.”</p><p>“I’ve already saved his sorry rear-end once, you’re saying I’ve got to do it again?”</p><p>“And as many more times as necessary,” the Dragon says. “Your lives are inextricably tied, in this lifetime and in every other. As a coin must have two sides, you cannot exist alone. The path to fulfill your destinies is one you must walk hand in hand.”</p><p>“What on <em> earth </em> are you talking about?” Arthur asks, his lip curled in disgust. It poorly masks his confusion.</p><p>“You’re not making any sense,” Merlin agrees.</p><p>“A time will come when you will understand. Though it may be delayed, destiny can never be escaped.” He rises to his feet with a small stretch of his wings.</p><p>“Or you could tell us now,” Merlin says, his arms spread in frustration at his sides.</p><p>“Until we meet again,” the Dragon says, and flaps his massive wings. He rises in the same way he landed, clumsy and off beat.</p><p>“Come back!” Merlin calls to him, but his voice is no competition to the loud chain that jangles behind the Dragon.</p><p>“He’s gone,” Arthur says, and claps Merlin on the shoulder as he turns to leave.</p><p>“Where are you going?”</p><p>“Back to bed,” he says.</p><p>“You’re going to <em> bed </em>? After all you’ve just been told?” Merlin gestures vaguely to where they watched the Dragon fly off.</p><p>“You heard the Dragon, Merlin,” Arthur says, a mocking air to his tone, “destiny cannot be escaped. Certainly the castle won’t crumble to the ground if I get a few hours of rest.” He gives a tight lipped smile and walks back to the tunnel, more careful now that he’s lost the torch.</p><p>“You’re insane. You’ve got a genuine mental affliction,” Merlin says as he follows, summoning a small flickering light to hover over Arthur’s right side.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>before i wrote this, i hadn't really written anything in like 2 years, so please forgive me. i'm still polishing the rust lmfao. the next chapter is already written so hopefully i won't have a shitty update schedule.<br/>listen to my <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5MLJPLWC6wpndk2cuJZM3E?si=IRyCGH6JRF2LlNygMJeIng">merthur playlist!</a></p><p>until next time -- yoyo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Fooling Yourself (the Angry Young Man)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Oh, so the Dragon telling us our fates are," he wiggles his fingers together in a way that makes Arthur frown, "inextricably wound together is no cause for concern?"<br/>"Yes," he says, "because the Dragon is insane, and will continue to be insane until proven otherwise."<br/>"And what, to you, is proof of the contrary?"<br/>"I don't know, a freak attempt on my life only you could stop?"<br/>"I could try to kill you and change my mind," Merlin suggests sweetly, lips curled into a tight smile.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warning for graphic descriptions of violence/injury!! i am not a medical professional or a first responder so... another warning for slightly inaccurate first aid.</p><p>i hope this chapter makes sense, i feel super uncomfortable writing from merlin's perspective bc i feel like i understand him less as a person so i'm super insecure abt this chapter and the next fklasdjgkl.</p><p>as always, you can listen to the title track <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apTy_Wez4V4">here</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> And you're fooling yourself if you don't believe it </em> <em><br/></em> <em> You're kidding yourself if you don't believe it </em> <em><br/></em> <em> Why must you be such an angry young man </em> <em><br/></em> <em> When your future looks quite bright to me<br/>And how can there be such a sinister plan<br/>That could hide such a lamb; such a caring young man</em></p><p>
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</p><p>He's drawing water when it happens, his arms heavy with buckets and fingers stinging with the weight. Merlin stares at the dotted sunlight that made it past the forest canopy and turns the brown dirt golden and lovely. Bugs scurry under dead leaves, the wind overhead makes the trees breathe. Everything is fresh, even the rot, and he is serene.</p><p>Of course, until the scream.</p><p>Merlin drops everything and bolts towards the sound. His mind races with possibilities, from a simple fall from a ledge to the far off battle straying into their part of the forest and claiming lives of innocents. He trips over a tree root and barely regains his footing in time. Speed alone keeps him moving forward as his hands brush the ground. Branches whip at his face and tug on his hair and clothes. Merlin catches sight of a young girl running towards him, and he braces himself as she spreads her arms and slams into him. She's a druid from his own camp, a young troublemaker named Edaena. She hyperventilates from panic and her run.</p><p>"Hey, hey," Merlin says, and kneels down, "what happened?"</p><p>"There's a scary man," she sobs, and covers her face with her hands.</p><p>"What do you mean a scary man, 'Daena? Did he hurt you?" Edaena shakes her head. Merlin sits back on his heels and waits. She sucks in a hiccuping breath.</p><p>"He's got his guts out," she says. Merlin's eyebrows furrow and he looks over her shoulder. He’ll have to talk with her parents after this.</p><p>"Can you make it home?" She gives a wordless nod. "Go to your mother," he says, "and tell your father to come find me."</p><p>Merlin rises to his feet and watches her disappear into the underbrush. Only when she's out of sight does he walk in the direction she came from, his eyes peeled for a scary man.</p><p>It's not long before he finds the man in question - not that he made it difficult. Against a tree leans a knight. His blond hair is plastered to his palid forehead with sweat. Dark circles marr the underneath of his dull eyes. His entire body is slumped under the weight of his armor, and a bright red cape hangs off one shoulder. His breaths come labored and heavy like he’s just run ten miles.</p><p>Blood smears his chestplate, splatters his cheek, and drips from his side where a deep cut rips through his chainmail.</p><p>His intestines threaten to spill out from his horrible injury.</p><p>Merlin's heart drops between his feet and bounces off into the bushes somewhere. This man shouldn’t be alive, he shouldn’t even be upright. He’d have respect for the knight if he wasn’t so terrified his tongue was numb.</p><p>The man takes a shuddering breath that rattles in Merlin's own chest and looks up at him with drooping, glazed eyes that bore into his soul without seeing Merlin at all.</p><p>"Tell my father," he says, and pauses to rest his head against the tree, "tell him we won." He swallows thickly. "And that I'm sorry."</p><p>His legs finally give out underneath him, and he crumples to his knees. A shocked cry is punched out of Merlin without his knowledge and he dives forward to stop the poor man from falling completely to the ground. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and he's limp in Merlin's arms.</p><p>Merlin is struck still by panic. His shoulders are tense and his body is overtaken by shivers, and when Edaena's father comes upon them he finds Merlin gently rocking, one hand completely bloody as he holds the knight's side and uses his magic to urge his innards to stay <em> in </em>. His lungs hurt with how fast his breath comes.</p><p>"We need to get him to the healer," Merlin says. His voice shakes as hard as his hands. He looks up to Edaena's father, his eyes blown wide with adrenaline. The man nods tensely and helps Merlin lift the knight, but they struggle to get him off the ground, let alone carry him more than a few paces.</p><p>"His armour," the man says. He lowers the knight with a grunt. "He's too damn heavy."</p><p>"Then we'll take it off," Merlin says, "or bring the healer to us. Or both." He tries to remove the armour but has no idea where to start. He's never seen a knight's armor up close before. Surely there's a method to how the pieces are layered, but it remains a mystery to him. Every piece seems to be covered by another. He quickly grows frustrated with his confusion and shaking hands.</p><p>"<em> Arýpan </em>," he says, and the metal rips open under his fingers like parchment. Merlin lets out a sharp sigh of relief. The flow of magic through his hands stills them. It washes over him like a steady trickling of cool water over his flushed scalp. </p><p>He repeats the spell like a prayer for each weighted metal piece. The torn armor drops to the ground in shreds. He takes the knight's cape and rips a strip of it to tie at his waist in the hopes it will keep any rebellious organs from jumping ship. They lift him once more and continue the walk to camp, silent from their emergency. </p><p>Merlin tries not to ask himself why he's gone to so much trouble. Despite all he’s done, this man still might die. Even if he lives, he may never come back from this.</p><p>But his plea, <em> tell my father we won, and I'm sorry </em>, plays over and over in his mind and fills his lungs up with lead. It's something so desperate, so small, so heart wrenchingly human. He can't let something so pure slip through his fingers in such a gruesome way.</p><p>Merlin uses his mind to call out to the healer when they're close enough. He thinks himself calm and level headed, but when he makes it to camp the druids are already waiting, tense and afraid, and he realizes how frantic he is. He tries his best to smile at his friends, but it falls dreadfully flat. Everyone is staring at the knight. The two men carry the knight to the healer's tent and lay him down on the bed laid out for them. The knight's head lolls heavy to the side.</p><p>The healer is an older woman named Eostre with black hair going grey at the root. Her hands are gnarled but strong, and she rolls up her sleeves as she kneels beside the unconscious knight. She unties the knot Merlin made with his cape and pushes up his tattered tunic to get a look at the wound. She sucks her teeth.</p><p>"It's bad," she says, and reaches for the rag she dampened with water in preparation. She wipes his skin clean, and Merlin almost gags as another dribble of watered down blood runs over his pale skin. "However," she says softly, "I've seen worse." She holds the rag to the knight's wound and motions for Merlin to come closer. "Come here and apply pressure. If I'm to save him I have to close the wound." </p><p>Merlin kneels beside her and replaces her hand. He gnaws on his lip, eyebrows drawn together, and watches her gather a needle and thread. Eostre whispers <em> aclænsian </em> before she licks her fingers and passes them over her tools. She guides the thread through the needle and ties a knot in it. She tightens it with her teeth. </p><p>Without needing to speak she shoos him away, and he gently lifts the rag. She dumps the bowl of clean water over the wound to flush it. His heartbeat pounding in his throat, he leans in close and watches her hands move. Unlike his own they're steady. She doesn't flinch when the needle pierces the knight's skin. She doesn't react to the grotesque pull of his flesh when she tugs on the thread to force the wound closed. Merlin, however, holds the hem of his tunic in a tight fist.</p><p>"Emrys," she says. His eyes don't move away from the knight. "Emrys," she repeats, more forcefully.</p><p>"Yes?" He answers, voice a whisper.</p><p>"You're blocking the light, my child." She doesn't look over to him. Merlin backs away, and she nods. He's not content to be so far, he wants to be involved, wants to help. He puts his hand on the knight's shin and gives it a squeeze.</p><p>Her surgery is quick. It isn't the point of her procedure, it only aids her. It's easier to heal a closed wound than a gaping one. When finished she gives the thread one last solid pull, the skin puckers, and she ties a knot. The needle still dangles from it.</p><p>Eostre rises and looks through the herbs she keeps. She finds one with small clusters of white flowers, small enough to be mistaken for baby’s breath if not for how closely the flowers are clustered together, and the smaller petals sprouting from the center of each flower. She bites off one of the clusters to the stem and eats it. She cracks her neck and rolls her shoulders before she drops to her knees beside the knight once more. She places one hand on the would and another on top, slotting her fingers between themselves, and presses gently on the wound.</p><p>"<em> Emetan sé flæsc, éaðnes sé pín, gebétan sé eorþfæt, </em>" she chants, and the pressure on the wound increases in intensity as she continues. Her fingers glow a brilliant gold. The light filters into the knight's skin, and Merlin watches the veins of her magic squiggle across him like tree roots. The knight groans just slightly. His head turns. Merlin moves his thumb back and forth on the knight’s leg. He relaxes. Merlin chooses to believe it was his own small comfort that did it.</p><p>Eostre repeats the chant three more times before she tires and stops. She lifts her hands and inspects the damage. It’s red and puffed, but sealed. Eostre takes a knife and cuts the thread. The puckered skin relaxes to show a deep valley of red scar tissue, but she waves Merlin away when he looks to her with eyes wide with concern.</p><p>“He’ll live,” she says, “that’s all that matters.”</p><p>Eostre pulls down his tunic to cover the fresh scar though it and his skin is still blood stained. She tugs on the cape Merlin wrapped the knight with until it’s free and inspects it dutifully. Bright red, hemmed with gold thread, and a shining gold dragon in what used to be the corner of the cape. Eostre hums, turns the fabric over in her hands, and gives a cutting laugh.</p><p>“This is the mark of the Pendragons,” she says, and raises the dragon for Merlin to see. “We just saved a knight of Camelot.”</p><p>“I’m sorry?” Merlin asks, and takes a step back as though he’s been slapped. She hands him the piece of cape, and he runs his fingers over the brilliant gold embroidery. He was too caught up in the panic of the situation to notice anything other than the knight’s wound, but now the realization of just who he saved settles heavy in his gut. Merlin holds onto the cape so tightly his knuckles turn white. He tries to force out a laugh, and jokes, “I should’ve left him out there.” Eostre smacks his leg with the back of her hand with a disgruntled noise. It leaves a smudge of blood on his pants.</p><p>“Emrys!” She scolds. “Don’t say such horrible things. You did what was right.”</p><p>“He’d never do the same for us.”</p><p>“No,” she says, “but how are we any better than our enemy if we mirror their cruelty? The irony is not lost on me, but a man is alive because of you. Take pride in that.” She pours fresh water into the bowl at her side and washes her hands. “I’ll keep him with me for the night. If he’s stable in the morning he’ll be moved to your tent.”</p><p>“I don’t want him,” Merlin says, and frowns deeply.</p><p>“You brought him,” she says. Her eyebrows raise and she dries her hands on her own tunic. “This man could be a danger to us, Emrys. We don’t know what will happen when he wakes. Not only are you responsible, you’re most capable to defend us. The choice has already been made. He’s your charge.”</p><p>Merlin wants to complain further, but finds himself unable to under her gaze. He knows she's right, even if he doesn't want to admit it. He can only give a small bow and excuse himself. </p><p>He never finished drawing the water, after all.</p><p>
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</p><p>The knight refuses to wake. Eostre calls it a coma, Merlin calls it an annoyance.</p><p>The knight lays in bed all day and all night, and it’s Merlin’s duty to watch him in case he rouses from his sleep. One day passes, then another, and another. Eostre teaches him how to get the knight to drink water despite his condition. Once daily he cradles the knight’s head so he doesn’t choke and gradually pours a cupful of water down his throat.</p><p>Merlin starts guarding him from across the tent, in dead silence with one hand at the ready to channel his magic through. As time passes with no sign of waking he grows bolder. He talks to the knight sometimes, about his life with the druids and his life before them. Some nights he reads him the fables in his books. </p><p>He wonders aloud what kind of person the knight is. If he's courageous, if he's funny, if he's graceful or if he stumbles as much as Merlin does. He imagines he has a squire that he's kind to. He wonders if he agrees with the King's policies or if he secretly hates him for his cruelty. On nights he's particularly bored he fantasizes of the latter, of the knight professing his hatred of the king upon waking and wanting to stay with the druids and adopt their nomadic way of life. </p><p>One night he sits next to him, his back leaning on the bed, his head tipped back and resting on the knight’s arm. He's solid but not rugged, someone who uses his body day in and day out but eats well at each meal.</p><p>“Who are you?” He asks, quietly enough the druids can’t overhear and think him crazy. “Do you have a big family, with brothers and sisters and the like? You’ve got a father, I know that at least. You must love him an awful lot. I wonder what that’s like - I don't even know my father.” </p><p>He turns his head to look at the knight’s face, no longer gaunt with pain and blood loss. It looks calm now, peaceful. He's started to grow the beginnings of a beard, but it doesn't sharpen his face in any way, rather the opposite. He doesn't look like a hardened knight that would throw himself into the battlefield - he's too soft looking, too pretty, all full lips and long eyelashes, his nose an elegant curve. Merlin bites his lower lip and watches his eyelids flutter. “Must be some dream,” he whispers.</p><p>Merlin rests his elbow on the bed and props his head up in his hand as he watches the knight sleep. He sighs gently.</p><p>“Please don't hate me when you wake, sir knight.”</p><p>
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</p><p>“I’ve never, in my <em> life </em>, loathed a man more than you,” Arthur grumbles, and curls into a ball under the covers. Merlin scoffs and pulls the bedsheets off him. Arthur lets out a very dignified whine and reaches for them, but rolls onto his back with a huff when he realizes there's no chance of getting them back. Merlin leans against one of the bed posts and crosses his arms over his chest.</p><p>"We have to talk about what happened last night."</p><p>"No we don't." He rubs his eyes.</p><p>"I'd like to." </p><p>"I'd like a lot of things I don't receive."</p><p>"You're a prince, I find that unlikely."</p><p>Arthur sits up on his elbows and glares at him. His hair is mussed from a fitful sleep, and there are dark circles underneath his eyes. Merlin knows he looks the same, as he tossed and turned until dawn. He fidgets with the triskelion still hidden under his wrinkled tunic.</p><p>"Merlin," he says, and Merlin's nose krinkles at the lilting way Arthur says his name, "there's nothing to talk about."</p><p>"Oh, so the Dragon telling us our fates are," he wiggles his fingers together in a way that makes Arthur frown, "inextricably wound together is no cause for concern?"</p><p>"Yes," he says, "because the Dragon is <em> insane </em>, and will continue to be insane until proven otherwise."</p><p>"And what, to you, is proof of the contrary?"</p><p>"I don't know, a freak attempt on my life only you could stop?"</p><p>"I could try to kill you and change my mind," Merlin suggests sweetly, lips curled into a tight smile. Arthur scoffs and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He retrieves his tunic from his desk chair where he threw it when they went back to bed. Merlin steps closer to his friend and leans on the desk he stands beside. "You almost died, Arthur. I saved your life. The Dragon said it himself: destiny can be delayed, but not escaped. It can't be a coincidence that I saved you, out of all the people on that battlefield. Our destiny caught up to us."</p><p>"That's very poetic, Merlin," Arthur says, and lowers his voice. Merlin looks between his eyes, startlingly blue and only inches from his own, "but you can't blame it on destiny."</p><p>"Then what can you blame it on?"</p><p>"Chance, for one," he says. He crosses his arms over his bare chest, tunic in hand ignored. "I was injured and disoriented. Your camp was close enough that I was found. It's chance - luck at most, but not destiny. It could've happened to anyone."</p><p>"But it happened to us," Merlin insists. "Why is chance any more reasonable than destiny?"</p><p>"Because the Dragon has every reason to lie!" Arthur says, and slams his hand on the desktop. The candelabras rattle. He takes a breath. "My father is the <em> only </em> person, besides myself, that knows of those tunnels, which means my father was the one to imprison him. I'm the king's son, and the Dragon knows it. Why wouldn't he lie for his gain?"</p><p>"Dragons are creatures of ancient magic. They're noble--"</p><p>"They're animals, as we all are!"</p><p>Arthur pushes away from the desk and slips into his tunic. Merlin curls his lip and raises his hands. He mimes throttling the prince behind his back. Arthur turns to him, and he quickly rests one hand on his hip and scratches his head with his other.</p><p>"The future of Albion is at stake. The Dragon spoke of those that harbor ill intent to you, and you won't take it seriously because you’re guilty of something you didn’t even do!"</p><p>"I'm <em> not </em> guilty!" Arthur says, and points his finger in Merlin's face, who makes a point to raise his eyebrows and not flinch. "You're just stubborn!" Merlin's lips twist into a frown before he traces his tongue over his teeth and raises his hands in surrender.</p><p>"You know what? Fine," he says. He walks around the bed to yank on his boots. "You go ahead and believe what you want to believe. I won't sit here and speak to a stone wall any longer!" Merlin storms to the door and swings it open. He turns to Arthur. "If you do find yourself in life threatening peril, I believe I owe Gaius a talking to, and you may find me with him." He dips in an exaggerated bow. "Have a good day, <em> my lord </em>!" He exits with a slam of the door, hard enough to rattle it in its hinges. </p><p>Merlin stomps down the corridor for too long before he realizes he has, once again, wandered into the completely unfamiliar. He doesn't remember if he's ever been in this part of the castle before, every god forsaken hallway looks the same. He stops and scrubs his face with his hands, an agitated groan rising from his throat. </p><p>"Lost again?" The voice draws him from his reverie, and he looks up from behind his hands. Immediately he brightens at the sight of her round face and delicately downturned nose. Her hair is swept atop her head, and stray curls fall from their ties to gather at the nape of her neck and her forehead, evidence of how hard she's been working even so early in the morning. Her brown eyes are kind despite the fatigue there.</p><p>"Gwen," Merlin says, a wide grin on his face. "You're not gonna believe this," and she laughs, "but I have no <em> idea </em> where I am."</p><p>"Oh, Merlin, you poor thing," she says. She adjusts the basket of linens in her hands so it rests on one hip. "Where are you trying to go?"</p><p>"I'm trying to find Gaius, the court physician."</p><p>"To get your head checked?" Gwen jokes, and her face falls as she realizes what she's said. Her eyebrows worry together and she touches a calloused hand to Merlin's wrist. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I was only joking-- about you getting lost all the time, I mean, I don't think there's anything wrong with your head." She gives him a sheepish smile, and Merlin returns it with a genuine laugh.</p><p>"It's alright," he says. "I'm to speak with him on a matter involving a mutual friend." It's not a lie, really, considering Merlin's mother and Prince Arthur.</p><p>"It sounds important," she says.</p><p>"Oh, yes," Merlin answers, "the fate of all of Albion is in the balance." He beams when she laughs, light and airy like birdsong. "I'll… carry that for you, if you'd care to escort me." Gwen glances to the ground away from Merlin and smiles softly, biting her lower lip just slightly. Her cheekbones are reddened with a blush when she offers the basket to Merlin.</p><p>"Only because you asked so nicely," she says. Merlin takes the basket with a smile of his own.</p><p>"What are you doing working so early, anyways?" He asks, when they've walked down a set of stairs together.</p><p>"I'm up early every day," she says. "I'm to wake the Lady Morgana every morning and prepare her morning bath, and retrieve her breakfast from the kitchens. Which leaves plenty of time for laundry." She gestures to the basket in Merlin's hands.</p><p>"She can't do that herself?"</p><p>"Well, she could," Gwen says, "but then I'd be out of a job." She shrugs. "I don't mind it, really. Morgana is good to me, she's kind. Things could be much worse, I'm grateful to have a place in the royal household."</p><p>"You're much better than me," he says, and his eyebrows twitch when he wonders where he's heard that before, "I'd go crazy. Everyone does their part where I'm from."</p><p>"That sounds nice," Gwen says. "Where are you from?"</p><p>"Uh," he says. He clears his throat and looks to the ground. It's not shame that weighs down his shoulders, but it feels an awful lot like it. "Ealdor. It's a village in Escetir."</p><p>"I'm sure it's lovely." She smiles, her cheeks squinting her eyes and her lips pressed together. Merlin finds looking at her is like watching a sunset, and adores her the way one does the purple and pink clouds that hang in the sky every evening, with deep awe and wonder this could exist on its own, without pretense or enchantment.</p><p>He's so caught up in her that he doesn't step aside when a patrol of knights turns the corner.</p><p>Merlin slams straight into the chest of a knight and goes down with the clang of heavy metal. Gwen puts her hands to her mouth, but leans away instead of helping. Linens go flying. He hasn't even seen who he ran into until he looks up at them from his seat on the floor.</p><p>"Merlin?" Leon passes his halberd to his non-dominant hand and leans down to help Merlin to his feet. He pulls too hard and almost throws him into the air, but Merlin blames it more on Leon overestimating his weight than any ill will. He dusts Merlin's shoulders for him as he says, "You must look where you're going."</p><p>"I'm sorry," Merlin says with a nervous laugh. He stoops down to collect the linens, grateful they were already dirty. Gwen quickly joins him.</p><p>"How's Arthur?" Merlin gives a roll of the eyes.</p><p>“Acting like an oaf,” he says. Leon quirks an eyebrow, already smiling.</p><p>“I thought Gaius cured him of his enchantment?”</p><p>“Oh, he did,” he rises up again, now holding the basket, “Arthur doesn’t need an enchantment to be an idiot.” Leon shakes his head, his laugh a wheeze, and claps Merlin on the shoulder.</p><p>"Well, I wish him luck, and you patience," he says, and Merlin cracks a small smile.</p><p>"Thank you, Leon," he says, and downturns his head in respect. "Be safe." Leon ducks his head as well and gives him one last polite smile before he motions the patrol of knights forward and they part ways. Gwen stands close, her shoulder against Merlin's arm. She looks up to him with one inquisitive eyebrow upturned.</p><p>"Were you talking about Prince Arthur?" She asks.</p><p>"Unfortunately," Merlin says. They continue walking. "Obstinate git." Gwen clasps her hands together.</p><p>"You must know him well, to speak so freely."</p><p>"You don't need to know Arthur well to know he's a git," he says. She hums and nods to agree. He sighs softly through his nose. Gwen seems trustworthy, and understanding, but he can't risk telling her anything. Looks can be terribly deceiving, and even if she didn't tell anyone, if someone overheard… he doesn't know if he can run fast enough.</p><p>"I have a question," he finally asks.</p><p>"Yes, Merlin?"</p><p>"Say… say you know you're Morgana's handmaid, but she doesn't. Or… she does, but she doesn't trust the person that hired you, so she says she doesn't know, and that you aren't her handmaid. Only, you <em> know </em> you're her handmaid, and if you're not caring for her linens then <em> no one </em> is, so you're duty-bound. But she still refuses to admit you're her handmaid, because she's, I don't know, an overgrown child, or something." Gwen blinks at him.</p><p>"I'm afraid I don't know what you're asking of me."</p><p>"Would you still clean the linen?" He asks, frustrated. "Or would you leave it up to her to clean it herself?" Gwen looks at the ground while she thinks, her eyebrows furrowed together.</p><p>"I've been Morgana's handmaid for quite some time, and I've served nobles for even longer than that. From my experience, nobles can be… odd. Some things matter to them that don't make much sense to me. Sometimes the only thing that a noble requires is a little patience, even if I cannot spare my understanding." She shrugs. "So I would respect her wishes until she asked for help."</p><p>Merlin clicks his tongue and stares at the wall. He doesn't want to admit that she's right, but Gwen makes a good point. Though he knows deeply that Arthur is wrong, the prince is too arrogant and stubborn to possibly see it until he's ready. A stubborn man himself, he wants to force Arthur to see things from his perspective, but nothing will come of it.</p><p>“You’re very wise, Gwen,” he says, and she smiles and gives a curtsy with a laugh on her lips.</p><p>If the Dragon is right then Arthur will come around eventually - it is his destiny, whether he likes it or not. And likewise Merlin must be patient, and be there for him when that time does come. That's <em> his </em> destiny, whether he likes it or not. As with most things, the only solution is to wait.</p><p>The issue lies in that Merlin is not a patient man.</p><p>"Well, we've made it," she says, and gestures to the door before them. "If he's not in, he'll be back - these are his chambers as well." She takes her basket back from Merlin and props it on her hip so her hand is free to rest on his arm. "It was nice to see you again, Merlin."</p><p>"And you as well," he says. Gwen smiles with her gentle mouth and turns back in the direction she came. He knocks on the door before he enters, though he doesn’t wait to be welcomed in.</p><p>The room is heavy with the smell of dried herbs and smoke, and the air itself feels thick. Herbs dry on the walls and hang from the ceiling. Thick books cover every shelf that isn't laden with jars, stacked high in corners and along the walls. Every jar has a label, and those that don’t have labels have preserved specimens inside that Merlin can’t begin to identify. Sunlight filters in through the lone window and makes the floor glow golden.</p><p>Merlin wanders through the room and takes in the controlled clutter. Every surface has something thrown onto it, books and bowls and wooden spoons. He touches a vial filled with red bubbling liquid, and yanks his arm back when it turns out the liquid bubbles because it's boiling and the vial sits over a small flame. It tips over at the movement and clatters onto the table, and its contents spill into a steaming puddle.</p><p>"It's quite rude to touch other people's things," Gaius says, and Merlin turns to him with his hands firmly behind his back, a guilty smile on his face.</p><p>"I'm sorry," he says, "I was just curious." </p><p>"Are you here in regards to Arthur?"</p><p>"Yes," Merlin says, "and, uh, no. Not exactly." Gaius lifts an eyebrow and walks past him to the table. He’s stiff as he walks, and Merlin notes he puts more weight onto his cane than he did yesterday. He throws a rag over the spill and lowers himself to the table's bench with a relieved exhale.</p><p>"I hope you don't mind if I sit," he says, "I took a nasty fall some years ago."</p><p>"No, of course," Merlin says, and waves it away. He sits on the bench across from him and clasps his hands over the table.</p><p>"Get on with it, then," he says. He props his cane up against the table. "Tell me what you've come here for."</p><p>"It's a bit of a long story."</p><p>"I've nothing but time."</p><p>So he does. </p><p>Merlin tells him every last detail, all the way from the beginning. Arriving in Camelot after a long journey. How he didn't mean to flee, but he was so young, and the reality of Camelot so unexpected, and he was so, so scared. He tells Gaius how he found a tribe of Druids, and how they called him Emrys for reasons he still doesn't understand. He tells him stories of how they taught him to control his magic, and the times that training failed. How he came to love them, and how they loved him too.</p><p>And he tells him about Arthur. He tells, with a laugh, the look on Arthur's face when he flung his sword across the room. How it was his fault Arthur spoke out against his father - that and Arthur's own obsession to do right by Merlin. He even tells him of the Dragon, and his riddles and talk of destiny.</p><p>"It is my duty to protect Arthur, even if he cannot accept it yet," Merlin says. "I know it's much to ask from you, and you don't know me at all. But will you allow me to stay with you while I work to fulfill my destiny?" Gaius sighs through his nose and takes a moment to absorb all he's been told. He taps his fingers on the tabletop and stares somewhere far away over Merlin's shoulder.</p><p>"I already planned to take you under my wing before," he says. "I don't see why I cannot do it again now." Gaius reaches for the damp rag in the middle of the table and pats at the remaining fluid there. "Besides, I'm getting old. Things are not as easy as they used to be. I could use help."</p><p>"My help in exchange for a place to stay?" Gaius nods.</p><p>"I could take you on as my apprentice. It would give a reason to your presence in Camelot as well."</p><p>"Thank you, Gaius, you won't regret this."</p><p>
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</p><p>Being a physician's apprentice isn't nearly as grandiose as it would seem. All Merlin does, for the most part, is what Gaius struggles to do for himself. Delivering potions and tinctures to members of the court takes up much of his day. A sleeping draught to the Lady Morgana, a salve for joint pain to the older members of the court, a rosemary tea to the court strategist’s wife Lady Tiphania - which has no true use, but is harmless and eases her mind to believe she’s been prescribed with something. </p><p>He quickly learns to sink or swim with the castle's layout and memorizes it front to end. Merlin glares at every tall painting of Uther that looks down at him from the castle walls, and the servants smile and bow their heads when he passes. They sneak him sweets and food from the kitchens, and he gets them the tonics to soothe their overworked bodies that they cannot afford.</p><p>When he isn't delivering cures, he's cleaning; mopping the floor, doing laundry, washing dishes. In between he gathers herbs in the woodland just beyond the citadel walls. Gaius teaches him how to hang them to dry and what parts to keep in those already dried. He smacks Merlin's hands when he gets it wrong, but his patience is endless while he teaches Merlin to do it right.</p><p>But there are occasionally times when he gets to be a real medical professional.</p><p>They walk as fast as they’re able to the jousting field, Merlin weighed down by Gaius’ bags. The details were obscured in the panic of the messenger, but some things they know for certain. A knight was thrown from his horse in a training joust. He landed on his shoulder.</p><p>And he won’t stop <em> screaming </em>.</p><p>The knights have already carried him off the field, and he rests on the sidelines with his head between his knees. He’s been stripped of his armor and his padded over-shirt and had his tunic removed. Arthur sits next to him, clean shaven, lips pressed into a tight line and eyebrows furrowed in discomfort, his broad shoulders tense. The injured knight holds his hand so tightly both their fingers are white. Arthur looks up from the knight and sees Gaius, and his shoulders relax.</p><p>"Gaius, thank--" He looks over Gaius' shoulder to see Merlin, and his lips pull into a frown. "You haven't begun to stalk me, have you?" Merlin stares ahead in annoyance and kneels on the other side of the knight to lay out Gaius’ tools and supplies on a sheet of worn leather. The knight's shoulder is misshapen into a sharp curve that’s almost squared off completely, his arm is tucked tight to his side, and a deep bruise has bloomed over his shoulder and down into his collarbone. He hopes Gaius knows what to do - Merlin knows only that the injury is unsettling to look at. "So now you're not talking to me?"</p><p>"Well, I am awfully stubborn, aren't I?" He asks, the brightness in his tone completely see through. Arthur shifts, and one leg splays out underneath him. His free hand comes to rest atop the knight's, who responds with a whimper.</p><p>"You're insufferable is what you are." Merlin snorts despite himself. He covers it by clearing his throat.</p><p>"I doubt you know the meaning of the word, but I'm trying to work. So if you could please be quiet."</p><p>"What on earth are you doing working?"</p><p>"I'm Gaius' apprentice," he says. Smug pride fluffs in his chest at Arthur's dirty look. He can’t help but poke the bear just a little further. “I’m quite the prodigy, Arthur, you could even say saving people’s lives is my destiny.” Arthur’s nose flares.</p><p>"I told you--" He glances down at the knight, who moans and groans his pain and presses his face into his own knee. Arthur lowers his voice. "The Dragon was lying."</p><p>"I think you're wrong."</p><p>"Then you're even more arrogant than you are stupid," he says.</p><p>"You're the arrogant one for believing you can deny fate." Merlin sits back on his heels. "Like it or not, Arthur, we're bound together by destiny, and I plan to be there when you realize it."</p><p>"You'll be waiting a very long time, then," he says. Merlin's eyebrows come together and he opens his mouth to argue further when Gaius clears his throat. Both men look up to the noise at once.</p><p>"I hate to interrupt, but I'm afraid there is a man who requires my aid." He looks pointedly to the knight between them. Merlin jumps away to make room for Gaius and stumbles in the loose sand. Arthur snickers. Merlin coughs <em> spurnan </em> into his fist, and Arthur's teeth click together to hold in a yelp. The fabric of his pants wrinkle as if he's been kicked.</p><p>Gaius, either oblivious or willfully unaware, doesn't acknowledge them. He places his hand on the knight’s uninjured shoulder, gentle yet firm, and guides him to sit straight.</p><p>"Can you move your arm?" He asks, and the knight sucks in a breath and cries out when he tries to shake his head.</p><p>"No," he says. He looks to Arthur with glassy eyes. "I'd rather you'd killed me, my lord." He laughs miserably, and Arthur gives his hand a squeeze.</p><p>"Please, sir Bedivere, you're being quite dramatic. You'll be back on your horse in no time, right Gaius?"</p><p>"I'm afraid not," he says. "Your shoulder is clearly dislocated, but the bruising and pain troubles me. You may have broken your clavicle, this bone here." He traces his finger over the swollen, red line of sir Bedivere's collarbone without touching it. "But my main concern is sir Bedivere's shoulder. Merlin, take his arm at the wrist and above his elbow." Gaius gestures where Merlin is to hold him, and then places his hands firmly on sir Bedivere's shoulder. "On three, I'd like you to pull. Not <em> yank </em>, but pull."</p><p>Merlin nods and gives sir Bedivere what he hopes to be a comforting smile. It comes out as more of a grimace. Sir Bedivere holds Arthur's hand close to his chest and takes a breath to brace himself. He squeezes his eyes closed.</p><p>"One… two… three." Merlin pulls sir Bedivere's arm towards himself. Gaius pushes down on the swollen lump of flesh that, Merlin realizes with disgust, has been sir Bedivere's shoulder joint. After what feels like a century of Merlin fighting against his own sweaty hands to keep sir Bedivere's arm steady and ignoring his cries of pain, there’s a sharp movement and a click, and sir Bedivere lets out a sigh of relief. His entire body slumps. Merlin lets go with a nod from Gaius.</p><p>"How's your pain, sir Bedivere?"</p><p>"Horrible," sir Bedivere says. He gives another deep sigh and says, "but better." He moves his arm in a weak wave to prove his point.</p><p>"I'd like you to take the proper time to heal," Gaius says. "With my concerns for your clavicle, no sooner than five weeks," his stern look silences sir Bedivere's objections, "and I'll observe your condition to determine if that is to be extended." Sir Bedivere groans and lets go of Arthur's hand to grip the prince's shoulder.</p><p>"I suppose you'll be missing me at the tournament," he says. He smiles and shifts, but the movement makes him grunt in pain. He lets out a heavy breath, and his eyes shut for several moments before he can open them again.</p><p>"There will be plenty of tournaments to attend when you're well again," Arthur says. "Our concern is for your safety, above all else."</p><p>"Noble as always, sire," he says, "but admit it: you unhorsed me to rid yourself of your best competition." Arthur huffs a pitying laugh.</p><p>"You've caught me," he says. "I couldn't bear to face you." Sir Bedivere smiles at him, wide and genuine, and such a small action leaves Merlin thrown. For a moment he cannot imagine the camaraderie and trust between knights. Sir Bedivere was unhorsed and terribly injured by Arthur, yet he looks to him without contempt or blame. He readily admits that such things happen. There is no fault to pass on or grudge to be had.</p><p>How it surprises Merlin worries him. He wants to hate every knight of Camelot and every citizen, wants to loathe every being that dwells within the citadel and watches gallows be built time and again. But then there's kind and sweet Gwen, who wakes her Lady every morning and scrubs her clothes in steaming hot water without complaint. Leon, with his manners and overwhelming loyalty, who uses his knighthood for chivalry and honor rather than power and control. And there is Gaius who, out of duty, makes cures for the man who slaughtered his dearest friends. He feels with every step he takes that Camelot is not evil at her core, however truly he wants to believe it. Arthur himself is proof.</p><p>"Do you need a hand?" Arthur asks as he stands. He dusts the sand from the seat of his pants.</p><p>"Only to rise," sir Bedivere says. Arthur helps him to his feet and dusts him off as well. "I can make it to my chambers from here," he says, "granted Gaius does not wish to see me?"</p><p>"I'll have Merlin see you at your chambers," Gaius assures. "Have a hot bath in the meantime."</p><p>"You don't have to tell me twice," he says with a smile, and punches Arthur in the arm. "I’ll be rooting for your victory, sire." He groans as he straightens his back, and he holds his chest as he moves in the direction of the castle. His shoulder sags, and there’s a limp in his step, but his pride is unharmed. Merlin takes to picking up Gaius' things.</p><p>"So… a tournament?" He poses the question as casually as he can, not looking up from the tools before him.</p><p>"To celebrate my safe return," Arthur says. He lowers himself to sit on his heels next to Merlin, and when Merlin makes the mistake of glancing at him he sees Arthur's eyebrows raised and a grin he barely fights against. Expectant and mischievous.</p><p>"Ah, yes. What better way to celebrate the return of the crown prince than to beat him with a sword," he says. He can't hold his unamused frown for very long before he's smiling to himself.</p><p>"Frankly, Merlin, I'm surprised you're not more concerned," he says, and is terrible at feigning worry. "My return was quite a big deal. Knights from across the kingdom are on their way to compete in my honor. I've never met a good plenty of them, there's ample opportunity for a traitor to make an attempt on the prince's life. Given they are, as you said, to be beating me with a sword." Merlin takes in his words with increasing anxiety, and he keeps his eyes to the ground as his thoughts of devastation and injury run rampant.</p><p>"You--" Merlin turns to face his friend completely, and worries a strip of leather in his fingers. "You can't compete." Arthur's laugh is sharp and cutting.</p><p>"I don't take orders from you."</p><p>"I'm serious, Arthur, I won't allow it."</p><p>"You and what army?"</p><p>"I don't need an army," he says, tone hard, but Arthur has long grown past being intimidated by his abilities. His unwavering gaze is a challenge.</p><p>"Good for you."</p><p>"Arthur--"</p><p>"Merlin," Arthur says. Their knees bump together when he leans forward. "Put it this way. If I get to the end of the tourney without dying horribly, I was right, and you can go home to your druids and skip around among the daisies, or whatever you do." Merlin mutters to himself that he's never once skipped through daisies, but doesn't interrupt. "If under some freak circumstance you save my life from an insurmountable evil, you were right, and I will humbly apologize and take the Dragon seriously for all time to come."</p><p>Merlin gathers Gaius' things into his arms and stares hard at an ornate post driven into the ground. He looks back to Arthur, his mouth a thin line.</p><p>"A tournament is not so important you cannot refuse to compete."</p><p>"That's where you're wrong, Merlin," he says. "Competing in the tourney shows I remain strong. Suppose an enemy of Camelot assumed the heir to the throne had fallen ill, and staged an attack?" Arthur rises once again. "And besides, I rather enjoy it." Merlin gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes as he joins Arthur.</p><p>"You've an odd way of repaying a life debt," Merlin says. Arthur’s lips purse, and he sets a weighted hand on Merlin’s shoulder.</p><p>"Might I remind you I could very well expose your sorcery to the courts and have you executed? As I've chosen not to, I believe the debt is repaid." Merlin's frown is deep.</p><p>"I may just choose not to save your life a second time, should the need arise," he says. Arthur gasps in shock.</p><p>"And ignore your precious destiny?" Merlin shakes Arthur's hand from his shoulder. He flubbers back Arthur's words in a thick, mocking tone.</p><p>"I have an injured knight to attend to," he says, "if I may be excused, my lord."</p><p>"Oh, piss off," Arthur says. Merlin shoves Arthur's shoulder, but he doesn't sway. Arthur shoves him back, a laugh bubbling from his throat, and Merlin stumbles. "Go tend to sir Bedivere, you lazy sorcerer."</p><p>"Better a lazy sorcerer than a thick headed prince."</p><p>He's begun running long before Arthur has the chance to retaliate.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>merlin had a big fat crush on arthur before they even properly met. gay culture</p><p>i wanted to post this on tuesday, but i'll be busy till then. ach. this chapter is actually split in half, bc it was gonna end up like 13k if i kept going, so next chapter is just gonna be part 2 of this one. i'm excited for it... even if writers block is killing me. hopefully editing/posting this will give me the juice i need to finish it, lmao.</p><p>more to come!  -- yoyo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Part II; Fooling Yourself (The Angry Young Man)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"What's the good news?"</p><p>"Huh?"</p><p>"The good news, Merlin, what is it?" He looks to Merlin, his eyes already tired. He wants to tell Arthur that the good news is he doesn't know the sorceress was telling the truth. She could have been bluffing, it could have been a ruse. It feels like a lie even in his own mind.</p><p>"The good news... is that tunic looks very good on you," he says.</p><p>His yelp of pain echoes along the hallway.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>alternatively titled "gratuitous sword fights and gentle longing between two men." graphic violence and injury again, but just a heads up i'm officially calling this "fic typical violence" cause this is probably what you should expect from me and this fic from here on. that and long chapters. i thought they were gonna get shorter after chapter 1... i played myself. sorry</p><p>title track is the same as last chapter, so nothing new. but bc i love sharing my music, i've been listening to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-k9J2HFmZ5s">this album</a> while i write.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> You're fooling yourself if you don't believe it </em> <em><br/></em> <em> You're killing yourself if you don't believe it </em> <em><br/></em> <em> Get up, get back on your feet </em> <em><br/></em> <em> You're the one they can't beat and you know it </em> <em><br/></em> <em> Come on, let's see what you've got </em> <em><br/></em> <em> Just take your best shot and don't blow it </em></p><p>
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</p><p>Merlin stands at the window in Gaius' chambers and watches the knights ride in through the gates of Camelot. They greet Arthur with pats on each others backs and grasped forearms. Those closer to Arthur prance around each other as they joke and stage fake attacks. Merlin frowns at the sight of it.</p><p>"Is everything quite alright?" Gaius asks, and Merlin jolts and starts to move the mop in his hands with reinstated vigor. He looks to Gaius with a bright smile.</p><p>"Of course, why wouldn't it be?"</p><p>"You've been mopping that one spot for the past thirty minutes." Merlin looks down at the ground. It’s sparkling clean, but only just in front of him. He must've been pushing it back and forth without realizing. The smile falls from his face. He sighs and gestures out the window.</p><p>"The tourney begins tomorrow," he says. He looks out the window once more to see an older knight raise his hand from Arthur's hip to far above both their heads, and Merlin only catches his lips moving around the words <em> since I've seen you last! </em> before Arthur laughs and feigns a punch to the knight’s gut that he pretends to dodge. “Potential murderers, the lot of them.”</p><p>“Merlin,” Gaius says, with that stern tone that makes Merlin click his tongue, “you can’t be so sure. Knights are noble men, they deserve your respect.”</p><p>“I’m sure they were all <em> incredibly </em> noble when they were lighting pyres,” he says under his breath. He looks up to see Gaius’ raised brow and grips the mop tighter. "Any one of those men could be planning Arthur's demise. How am I to protect him against so many?"</p><p>"There are plenty more men who would die for Arthur than there are who wish him dead," Gaius says. "Don't lose your trust in those around you." </p><p>Merlin shakes his head - he never trusted these men to start with. He rests his chin on the top of the mop handle and watches Arthur through the window, jovial and relaxed and in his element. His laughs come easy when he's around knights. His hand rests on his stomach and his head tips back, and his smile bares his brilliant white teeth.</p><p>Merlin's eyes soften. His determination to protect that smile settles comfortable and warm in his chest and wraps around his ribs as if the roots of little flowers grow there. The Dragon may be right in that protecting Arthur is Merlin's destiny, but not because it's his duty to his future king.</p><p>It's because Arthur is Merlin's friend.</p><p>He only hopes he can do so.</p><p>
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</p><p>There’s a banquet held that night to celebrate the coming tourney. The knights, nobles, and royalty feast and drink. Gaius is invited, and Merlin by extension. Gaius sits and chats amicably with a man Merlin only knows as a librarian and an old friend to Gaius. Merlin hangs back and talks to Gwen. She’s meant to be serving, and he's meant to be watching the prince, but they both find it a better use of their time to hide away and giggle to each other. They sip from Gwen’s pitcher of wine and ridicule the guests with mean jokes and impersonations. She tells him scandalous secrets of the nobles and insists she knows nothing about Arthur no matter how much Merlin presses.</p><p>Gwen leans against a wide cylindrical pillar, close enough that her whole side is pressed to Merlin’s and her warmth seeps through the cream colored sleeves of her dress. It's the color of marigolds, with a decorative golden brown trim at the front. She’s incredibly proud to have made it herself.</p><p>“She’s gorgeous tonight, don’t you think?” She asks, eyes trained on the Lady Morgana. Unlike Gwen, Morgana’s hair is down and falls over her shoulders in black waves. Her dress is tight to her form and rich purple. It slips from her shoulders and down her upper arms by design, regal and entrancing like the woman who wears it. She’s sunken in her seat, and she doesn't even pretend to listen to the valiant tale a knight regales her with. He either doesn’t notice her lack of interest or doesn’t care.</p><p>“She looks unhappy,” Merlin says.</p><p>“It’s just the company,” Gwen answers, and watches Morgana with a soft fondness in her eyes. "She's…" Gwen laughs lightly, "she's happier when men aren't around."</p><p>"I can't blame her," he says, "you could exchange her with a potted plant and I doubt that knight would care." He leans down and lowers his voice, "As long as it was wearing that dress." Gwen laughs before she can stop herself, and puts a hand to her mouth.</p><p>"Oh, Merlin, you are bad," she says, though she's grinning. Merlin snorts and straightens, his own cheeks aching from how much he's smiled in one night. He takes the pitcher of wine from Gwen. As he raises it to his lips to take a sip a squire comes bowling into him with a far too late <em> watch out! </em>Merlin shouts as the squire hits his chest and stumbles. They both tumble to the ground. The wine pitcher clangs on the stone floor. The room goes silent for a fraction of a moment before the noise rises once again.</p><p>“I am so sorry!” The squire says. His knee jabs Merlin in the thigh as he struggles back to his feet, and Merlin grunts. “Oh, I’m-- I'm so clumsy.” He holds his own head with one hand and offers the other to Merlin, who’s still reeling. </p><p>Merlin presses his hand to his chest to ensure his pendant is still concealed underneath his tunic. It's a risk to even continue wearing it, but to take it off is a greater loss than he can accept. It’s hard enough to not wear it with pride.</p><p>“You’re alright,” he says, and takes the offered hand. The squire sighs, misery in the slump of his shoulders, and shakes his head.</p><p>“I’ll never be a knight if I can’t even keep my own feet under me,” he laments. Merlin doesn’t know this boy well enough to comfort him, and can only pat his shoulder.</p><p>“That’s not true,” he says, faltering and uncomfortable, “you told me to watch out.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s alright,” he says. “I’ll never be good enough to be knighted. My knight tells me often.” Merlin glances over the squire’s head to look over the crowd.</p><p>“Who’s your knight?”</p><p>“Sir Merek,” the squire says, his chest puffing up in pride. “He’s the returning champion. Everyone expects him to face prince Arthur in the finals for their rematch, after sir Merek bested him at the summer tourney last year.” The squire turns just slightly and points to his knight, a tall man with close cropped blonde hair and a mouth that seems to be stuck in a frown, even when he smiles. He’s leaning down to speak to Arthur, who sits at attention at the royal table. Arthur’s back is straight and his shoulders are back, a polite smile even graces his lips, but his fingers twist his wine goblet on the table round and round and round in a repetitive, clockwise motion. His jaw clenches when king Uther leans forward to say something to sir Merek without acknowledging his son.</p><p>"It was a close match last year," Gwen says. “Do you think sir Merek could win a second time against Prince Arthur?”</p><p>“Without question,” the squire says, tone light as if responding to a joke. "Sir Merek is the better fighter. He says the prince is too light footed, and he spends his days training for duels, not for battles. He doesn’t fight seriously. Sir Merek has seen war, unlike the prince.” The squire looks to Arthur from down his nose. “Such will be his downfall.”</p><p>“Arthur has seen war,” Merlin says. “What do you think this tournament is for?” The squire snorts.</p><p>“Have you not heard? The rumor is that Prince Arthur fled before the battle even began. If he was as wounded as he claims, he wouldn’t be fighting tourneys so soon.” The squire’s smile is impish. “All the knights think him a coward.” Merlin’s eyebrows furrow together. Noblemen. What an oxymoron.</p><p>“Arthur is many things, but he has never been a coward," he says, voice ice cold. He'd be lying if he said he's never seen Arthur afraid. He was afraid when he faced Merlin for the first time, even. But Arthur takes his sword in his hand, and he keeps his chin high, and he takes it in stride. His courage is one of the many things Merlin respects about him.</p><p>"I apologize if I've insulted you," he says, though he is not sorry. "It's clear you hold him in high regard." He looks Merlin up and down. "I'm sure they'll face each other in the finals once more. I only hope prince Arthur is prepared for what sir Merek has to give." Merlin regards him with a suspicious eye.</p><p>"I should be going," the squire says, and bows to take his leave. "May the best fighter win."</p><p>"Sure," he says.</p><p>Merlin frowns. He looks once more to the royal table and sees Arthur slumped in his seat as Morgana is. King Uther speaks to him, hands animated, and Merlin catches the name <em>Merek</em> on his lips over and over.</p><p>
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</p><p>Such as he hates the knights before he’s met them, Merlin hates the tourney before it’s begun. He watches the colorful tents be set up, the family crests be displayed on the dueling boards, and the peasants come streaming in to watch the show. Gaius and himself are given front row seats of sorts, standing off to the side in case someone is injured, but he can’t calm himself enough to stand still for long. He seeks out Arthur to ease his anxieties - he cannot be harmed if Merlin is by his side.</p><p>Merlin ducks into the tent Arthur claimed for himself. He stands in the center and fastens the pieces that guard his forearms while a servant secures the plate at his shoulder.</p><p>The sight of Arthur in his full armor clenches Merlin's stomach. He smells the sharp tang of blood that isn’t there, and his hands recall Arthur’s bloody skin, slippery and sticky all at once as if he still holds it. His chest flutters painfully.</p><p>He was never taught Eostre’s healing magic. If Arthur is struck down a second time he won’t be able to save him.</p><p>“It’s not too late to remove yourself from the competition,” is his greeting. Arthur gives no indication he heard him, no flinch or turn of his head.</p><p>“That implies I ever planned to,” he answers. He looks to the servant and jerks his chin in the direction of the tent’s exit. The servant bows and leaves with a smile to Merlin and nothing more. When they are left alone Arthur faces him. “Have you any progress?”</p><p>“I’m sorry?”</p><p>“Progress,” Arthur repeats, slowly and over enunciated. Annoyance twitches Merlin's nose. “On the forces-that-be who plan my demise.”</p><p>“Yes, actually, I do, and I have overwhelming evidence to prove it,” he lies before he can stop himself. Arthur quirks an eyebrow, unimpressed.</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“You’re not going to elaborate at all?”</p><p>“No.” Merlin walks around Arthur and peruses through a tray of cured meats and cheeses and bread left out for him. The summer heat and humidity have left the cheese sweaty, but he takes a small handful anyways. He pops a chunk into his mouth and pairs it with a piece of bread before he says, “I figure you don’t care to know, given you don’t believe in our destiny.” </p><p>“I don’t.”</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>Merlin looks to the wall of the tent and crosses his arms, and Arthur looks to the ground and tugs on the leather clasps of his armor. Merlin pulls at a loose thread on his tunic with his thumb and forefinger. He sighs through his nose.</p><p>“I wish you’d take this seriously, Arthur. I’m on your side - I only want you to be safe.” Though Arthur's head is turned, Merlin can see his smile in his cheek.</p><p>"You're such a girl," he says as he looks back to him. "You may as well give me a token for luck, if you're so concerned." </p><p>Merlin, completely misunderstanding, looks over his shoulder to the tent's entrance and pulls his pendant from his tunic. He passes the leather band over his head and holds it out for Arthur to take. He does, eyes wide and red blooming up his cheeks and ears. </p><p>"Merlin… I-- I was only joking," Arthur's tone mocks him, but the reverence he holds the pendant with undercuts his words. A gloved thumb passes over the silver.</p><p>Merlin's face goes so hot he thinks his skin might evaporate right off. He makes to snatch the necklace back, but Arthur pulls it away.</p><p>"No," he says, "I want to wear it."</p><p>"That's an artifact of my people," Merlin says. "If you break it--" Arthur puts on the necklace and hides it safely under his armor. He pats his chest plate to punctuate the action.</p><p>"Nothing will happen to your little magic necklace, Merlin," he says, that teasing lilt back in his voice. Merlin groans. "You'll get it back in one piece once I've won the tournament."</p><p>"I'll fetch it from your dead body, if I must," Merlin says. Arthur makes a show of rolling his eyes and takes his helmet in hand.</p><p>"Do try not to have a heart attack," he says, and his smile is bright as he exits the tent. Merlin's stomach is in knots as he follows. He comes to stand by Gaius, and Arthur steps into the arena.</p><p>Arthur's hand is lax on the hilt of his sword and his shield rests at his side. He doesn't know how Arthur can be so confident - Merlin fears he's going to throw up.</p><p>The horn blares to begin their match. The two men draw their swords. Arthur extends his, and his opponent mirrors the action and knocks them together before they begin.</p><p>In truth Merlin has never seen Arthur fight. Arthur has drawn his sword plenty, but never has he been forced to use it. The only fight Merlin knows him to have been in almost killed him.</p><p>It quickly becomes apparent that Merlin has nothing to worry about.</p><p>Arthur parries a blow from his opponent and side steps with his sword at an angle so the full weight doesn't come down on him. He guards his torso with his shield and sweeps his sword through his opponent's middle. His opponent raises his shield just in time. The clang makes Merlin's chest vibrate from across the arena.</p><p>Arthur side steps as his opponent rushes him and shoves him with his shield to make him stumble. It becomes obvious the only reason the opponent isn't already pinned to the ground is to give the crowd a half decent show. Arthur is toying with him. He raises his sword with a turn of his wrist and sinks low into a defensive stance. </p><p>The opponent charges once more. Arthur holds steady and raises his shield. Their swords meet once, twice. Arthur holds his weight on one foot and steps forward, hitting his opponent hard with his shield. In the moment he's caught off guard Arthur takes another step forward and smacks his sword out of his hand. Another step forward, this time with his foot behind his opponent's ankle, and another hard jab of his shield. The opponent tries to steady himself with a hasty step back and trips. He lands hard on his back.</p><p>Arthur points his sword to his opponent's neck. Merlin remembers, with a light hand to his own throat, when the same was done to him. Does Arthur's opponent feels his heart beating through his chest as Merlin did?</p><p>The opponent raises his sword-empty hand in surrender, and the crowd cheers. Arthur sheaths his sword and helps his opponent to his feet. Arthur removes his helmet and looks to his father. Despite an arena of screaming peasants he doesn't relax until his father nods to him. He bows, and an idle hand rests on his chest.</p><p>The opponent’s family crest is knocked from the board. Arthur’s rises to the next level.</p><p>Arthur passes Merlin and Gaius on his way from the arena. His smile brightens his sweaty face, but from Arthur it seems more smug than truly joyful. He reaches out and grasps Merlin’s forearm when they’re close enough. Merlin holds him in turn, and when Arthur leans in to speak their shoulders almost touch.</p><p>“What’d I tell you? Everything is going to be fine.” He grins, and Merlin rolls his eyes. Arthur moves back in the direction of his tent, but doesn’t let go of Merlin all at once. Merlin, too, lets his hand linger, and his grip moves from his forearm to his wrist. His fingers touch Arthur’s rough palm. Arthur knocks their knuckles together before they depart completely.</p><p>Merlin looks over his shoulder, but only sees the approaching forms of sir Merek and his squire. Sir Merek is in an even worse mood than the night before, his shoulders hunched and eyes glazed. His sword is already brandished. His squire chases after him, begging him to put on his helmet, but sir Merek ignores him.</p><p>The squire stops next to Merlin and Gaius to watch the match and worries his thumbnail between his teeth. His eyes are wide with concern.</p><p>“Sir Merek is not himself today,” he says.</p><p>Merlin decides he has <em> everything </em> to worry about.</p><p>Unlike Arthur, sir Merek does not touch swords with his opponent. He doesn’t toy with him to give a better show to the crowd. He hacks and slashes at the knight before him. His entire weight and all his strength is put into every blow. Sir Merek brings his sword down in an overhead swing and hits his opponent’s shield so hard it dents. His opponent cries out in pain and stumbles. He hits the ground and scurries back, shield still raised as he tries to crawl away. Sir Merek abandons his own shield and hits the knight's shield with his sword over and over. The crowd <em> oohs </em> and hides their eyes behind their hands.</p><p>“Enough!” His opponent cries, “Please!” But sir Merek doesn’t stop. He kicks his shield away and brings his sword’s hilt down on his helmet, and the opponent is knocked unconscious.</p><p>“I think I’m going to be sick,” Merlin says, his hand on his chest where his lungs are too paralyzed to draw in a breath. He grimaces and swallows though his throat is bone dry. Arthur may have skill, but he won’t stand a chance against such brute strength. His hand moves upward to grasp his own shoulder, which has gone so tense it’s cramped.</p><p>Sir Merek celebrates his victory with another cheering crowd. Most notable is Uther, who claps and even gives sir Merek a small smile. Despite his racing heart Merlin manages to glower at him for praising such brutality over his son’s show of mercy.</p><p>“This is far above my pay grade,” the squire says, his voice high and meek.</p><p>Gaius and Merlin rush out onto the arena. Merlin and a guard carry a stretcher between them, and the two lift the unconscious man onto it. Gaius removes his helmet. His hair is wet with blood. It drips down his forehead and pools in the hollows of his eyes. Merlin’s stomach falls between his knees in a tangle.</p><p>“Don’t be so concerned,” Gaius says, “head injuries tend to bleed.” He parses his fingers through his bloodied hair to find the source of the wound, and lets out a sigh of relief when he does. “He’s incredibly lucky,” he says. He places a pad of cotton on the wound and holds it tight with bandages. “I’ll need to do a further inspection to be certain of his condition, but he’s unlikely to suffer more than a concussion.”</p><p>Merlin looks up to sir Merek, who spares him little more than a glance. His void black pupils are completely blown, with no trace left of his irises.</p><p>All the warmth leaves Merlin’s body.</p><p>Sir Merek stomps away to his squire and shoves his sword into his squire’s hands so forcibly it throws him back a step. The squire chases after him and shouts his concerns. Merlin drops his head and pretends to fix the knight's bandages to sit closer to Gaius.</p><p>“Did you see his eyes?” He says, his voice low. Gaius looks up at him in confusion. “They were completely black. Couldn't even see his irises.”</p><p>“You believe he’s been enchanted?” Gaius asks, eyes wide and incredulous.</p><p>“He must be,” he says, "is there another explanation?"</p><p>"Exerting himself in the fight could have done it."</p><p>"Not like that," he says. He shakes his head. Even with the strongest dose of adrenaline you could see the thin color of a man's eyes. "His squire told me he wasn't acting like himself today."</p><p>"That I believe," Gaius says. "Sir Merek may be a cruel man, but he is incredibly attached to rules and codes. I've never known him to compete with so little armor - or to ignore a plea for mercy."</p><p>Merlin and the guard pick up the stretcher and carry the man to a tent made up specifically so that injured men won't have to be taken all the way to Gaius' chambers for treatment. They rest the battered knight on a bedroll on the ground and Gaius dismisses the guard.</p><p>"Do you think sir Merek did this to himself?" Merlin asks. He sits on his heels and watches Gaius wring out a damp cloth and clean the knight’s face of blood with gentle hands. He rinses the cloth in a bowl of water and wrings it out once more when it’s clean. He folds it and places it over the knight’s brow to cool him.</p><p>“I doubt it. He wouldn’t need an enchantment to win the tourney if he’s already won before.”</p><p>“And why wouldn’t his enchantment be to improve his skill? This enchantment just makes him angry and thoughtless.”</p><p>“Precisely.” Gaius nods. “I’m afraid someone has chosen sir Merek as a target. For what I do not know.” Merlin stares at the unconscious knight before them. For a moment, he can imagine it’s Arthur, and that it’s his face marred by blood Gaius didn’t properly clean away.</p><p>“I think you do.”</p><p>
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</p><p>The clock was ticking from the moment sir Merek first stepped into the arena, and Merlin can feel it in time with his heartbeat now. As Arthur defeats his competition like a choreographed dance he was always meant to win, sir Merek forces his way through anyone who stands in his way. The finals are to be held in two days, and it’s no question they’ll meet there. It’s up to Merlin whether it will be a fair fight.</p><p>Another feast is held in honor of the first night. Merlin brushes off Gwen who smiles but slumps her shoulders. He spends the night directly behind sir Merek.</p><p>He’s certainly in better spirits than he was in the day, though Merlin finds that he has little patience for his words once he’s in the vicinity to hear them.</p><p>Arrogance is not a good color on any man.</p><p>“This tournament is even easier than last year.” He takes a break to boast between shoving pieces of pork into his loud mouth. “If these are the knights prince Arthur faces, no wonder he flees at the sight of a real battle!” The knights to his left and right laugh as if he’s said something funny. Merlin bristles, and heat rises on his skin. Sir Merek wipes his greasy face with the back of his hand and takes a long sip of his wine. He turns his empty goblet over and shakes it at a serving girl. “My <em> lady </em>,” he says, “are my drinks not to be refilled?”</p><p>“Uh, yes, they are, sire,” she says. Her shoulders are tense, and she holds an empty serving tray close to her chest. Merlin imagines taking it from her hands and beating sir Merek over the head.</p><p>“Then why is my goblet empty?” He asks, like he’s trying to guide her through a simple math problem. She looks to his goblet with wide, concerned eyes.</p><p>“I, I’m so sorry, sire,” she says. “I am not serving wine tonight, but perhaps I could fetch someone who is.”</p><p>“Make it fast,” he says, with a roll of his eyes. The serving girl bows and turns away. When she sees Merlin her lip curls back and she tilts her head in sir Merek’s direction as she gives an exaggerated eye roll as well. Merlin scoffs and nods. She stomps away with her head down and her free fist clenched. “Excuses! It’s always excuses with these servants,” sir Merek says to the knights. “Your job isn’t hard - deliver to me my food and keep my cup full. What do they not understand?” No one points out that there are easily a hundred nobles alone attending the banquet, and only a handful of servants to attend them.</p><p>A serving girl that Merlin does not recognize scurries in their direction with a wine pitcher in one hand and her skirts in the other. She slows before she reaches sir Merek and straightens her dress. She takes a breath.</p><p>“I’m so sorry, sire-” she starts, but sir Merek will hear none of it. He gestures to his goblet without a word, and she fills it in silence with her jaw clenched. She bows to sir Merek and turns away. Merlin gives her an encouraging smile, and she raises an eyebrow at him as she passes. She does not return his smile.</p><p>He knows almost every servant in Camelot, and at the least he can recognize their faces. He's on good terms with every servant he knows, and friendly with those he doesn't. Merlin always smiles at the servants, and they always smile back. Her steely eyes and pinched mouth don’t sit right with him.</p><p>With a conspiratorial look about to ensure no one is paying attention, he follows.</p><p>The serving girl hurries into a corridor, her head tucked down to conceal her face and her wine pitcher still in hand. She turns one corner, and then the next, all the while looking over her shoulder. With how difficult she makes it to tail her Merlin suspects she knows he’s onto her.</p><p>Before she turns one last corner she leaves the wine pitcher on a console table. Merlin stops and considers continuing his chase, but snatches up the pitcher instead. He makes his way as fast as he can to Gaius’ chambers without tripping over his traitorous feet.</p><p>Gaius and Merlin were at the tournament all day and didn’t stop at their chambers before they left for the banquet. The candles are all snuffed and the room is dark. Merlin shuts the door behind himself and mutters <em> inlihtan </em> to the nearest candle. There's a pop of sparks, and a flame springs to life. With a wave of his hand the flame jumps to the next candle, and the next. It hops from a candle and onto a pile of parchment, and Merlin pats out the smoke with haste and a folded rag.</p><p>Content with only half the room illuminated Merlin sets the wine pitcher on the table. He sits on the bench and watches it like it’s a snake meant to bite him. He only grows more cross when it achieves nothing.</p><p>There’s something in this wine, he knows it. But that means nothing if he cannot find what exactly that is.</p><p>Merlin huffs and rests his head in his hands, eyes still on the wine pitcher. He leans forward and gives a tentative sniff.</p><p>It just smells like wine.</p><p>He groans and scrubs his face with his hands. Surely Gaius would know what to do, but Merlin dislikes the idea of leaving the pitcher unattended. It could evaporate, or be stolen, or even worse be consumed. He stands and begins to pace the length of Gaius’ chambers.</p><p>Sir Merek is already dosed with whatever is in this wine. He has reason to believe he was dosed with it the night before as well, which means it wears off. Merlin’s job is to make sure sir Merek isn’t dosed a third time. If he isn’t enchanted in the first place, Merlin will never have to worry about the cure - if there is one at all. But it’s always good to have a plan B in case he fails, so he needs to know what’s in the damn wine.</p><p>Merlin is diligently working on walking a hole through the floor when Gaius enters. He’s steady on his feet but his eyes are unfocused, and Merlin doesn’t realize he’s whined until Gaius raises his eyebrow.</p><p>“Tell me you haven’t been drinking,” he says, shoulders slumping.</p><p>“It was a celebration,” Gaius says, “of course I’ve been drinking.”</p><p>“But-- I’ve got-- And you--” Merlin gestures vaguely to the wine on the table.</p><p>“Oh… I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you prepared drinks for us here.” He moves to the cupboard for two wooden cups, and pats Merlin’s arm with a smile as he passes. Merlin pulls the pitcher away and holds it close to his chest.</p><p>“Don’t drink that!”</p><p>“Merlin,” he says, eyes stern, “I haven’t had <em> that </em> much.”</p><p>“No-- this is the wine given to sir Merek,” Merlin says. He looks down at the purple liquid. It reflects his face, his worried together eyebrows and the thin line of his mouth. “I think it’s been dosed with something.” Gaius frowns and holds his hand out for the pitcher. Merlin lets him take it, confident now that Gaius knows it’s laced. Like Merlin, Gaius sniffs it.</p><p>“It smells fine to me,” he says.</p><p>“Well it would,” Merlin says, as if he hadn’t tried the same thing himself. Gaius gives him a cross look before he pours the wine into a vial. He takes one of the candles Merlin lit and lights the tea candle he uses to heat his medicines. He sets the vial of wine on top, and they wait.</p><p>The wine doesn’t boil.</p><p>It explodes.</p><p>Merlin jumps out of his skin and steps in front of Gaius, his arms spread outward to protect his friend. The cool surge that comes with every involuntary rise of his magic tingles in his veins. They both stand completely still and hold their breath. A splash of wine that landed too close to the candle spits up a little burst of smoke, and all is calm. The two men look to each other with wide eyes and fast beating hearts. They do not have to speak to know they've come to the same conclusion.</p><p>Whatever made the wine combust is inside sir Merek.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Sir Merek was twice as aggressive today as he was yesterday,” Merlin says to Gaius, as they join the crowd gathering in the dining hall for the third feast. As expected, Arthur and sir Merek have advanced to the final. Their fight is early in the morning to beat the heat of midday, and because everyone anticipates their match too greatly to wait until the afternoon. The nobles buzz with excitement and the room is loud with it even before they drink.</p><p>They keep their eyes on sir Merek so no one gets the chance to slip him anything without their notice. </p><p>“I had hoped it was only my imagination,” Gaius says with a glum shake of his head. “If the potion becomes more powerful with each dose Arthur may not stand a chance.” Merlin sighs and rubs the back of his aching neck. Hours of study and research had them no closer to finding the potion the woman used. Not that it meant much. Hundreds of magical texts were destroyed in the Great Purge. It was its own burning of Alexandria - many one of a kind texts were lost forever and centuries worth of research were ripped from the hands of magic users. Gaps in magical knowledge are all too common, and the frustration it causes knows no end.</p><p>“What’s this about me not standing a chance?” Arthur asks from behind them.</p><p>“You’re of noble birth, Arthur, has no one taught you that eavesdropping is rude?” Merlin asks as he turns his head. Arthur follows them with his hands behind his back and an innocent smile upon his face. There’s a rough scratch on his lower jaw where his helmet was kicked from his head earlier in the day, but he gives no sign it bothers him.</p><p>“Yes,” he says, “but as I’m also of <em> royal </em> birth, those rules don’t apply to me.” Merlin goes to retort, but his words sputter out and die right on his tongue when Arthur rests his hand on Merlin’s shoulder and he can see just the barest glint of silver from the open fabric of his tunic and a leather band on his collarbones. Why on earth would he take such a risk to wear Merlin's pendant in public? “Come on, out with it then. What’s wrong?”</p><p>“We have reason to believe there’s a plot against your life, my lord,” Gaius says, his voice lowered. Arthur rolls his eyes.</p><p>“He hasn’t gotten to you too, has he?”</p><p>“I’ve seen it with my own eyes.” The look they share is weighted. Arthur hesitates, and the hand on Merlin’s shoulder grips tightly until Merlin winces and it loosens.</p><p>“What do you know?”</p><p>“So you’ll listen to him and not me?” Merlin asks, and he crosses his arms and draws away.</p><p>“Gaius doesn’t listen to crazy people that tell riddles,” he says.</p><p>“You just like to disagree with me,” he says.</p><p>“Don’t be foolish, Merlin, I don’t like you enough for that level of attention.” Merlin raises his eyebrows and laughs. It stops as quickly as it starts, and his face drops into dead seriousness.</p><p>“Give me the necklace back.” He holds out his hand, and Arthur puts his own hand over his chest where the pendant lays as he steps back.</p><p>“No! You gave it to me.”</p><p>“I didn’t <em> give </em>you anything, it was a token, and I want it back.”</p><p>“We’re surrounded by citizens of Camelot, I can’t just--”</p><p>“Arthur,” Gaius says, his hands on his hips and his disappointment written clearly on his face. Merlin and Arthur turn to him, Merlin with his hand still held out expectantly and Arthur leaned away from him. “I do not need to remind you how serious this matter is.” Arthur straightens and pulls on the front of his tunic, a bright red, silk thing with gold embroidery in regal swirls and almost floral patterns. He clears his throat.</p><p>“Of course not,” he says. He waves his hand to encourage Gaius to continue.</p><p>“Merlin and I are under the impression that sir Merek has been enchanted with the purpose of killing you at the final tomorrow.”</p><p>“Sir Merek?” He asks with his eyebrow lifted in disbelief. He casts a glance over to his rival. “He’s not smart enough for such a plan,” he says, tone flat. Merlin shakes his head as he smiles.</p><p>“I don’t think he planned it himself,” Merlin says through a light laugh, “we think he’s being slipped a potion that makes him more aggressive. I saw a serving girl give him wine that was laced with it.”</p><p>“You’ve seen this woman?” Merlin nods. Arthur nods along as he contemplates it, his lips pursed just slightly. “And so… you’ve decided to watch sir Merek and prevent her from enchanting him, which you may be too late to achieve already, instead of looking for the sorceress herself to find a possible cure?”</p><p>Merlin stops, and his brow wrinkles as his thoughts stutter.</p><p>“I hadn’t,” he swallows, “I hadn’t considered it, no.”</p><p>“Your intelligence amazes me, Merlin,” he says. He makes a shooing motion. “You go along and find her, and I’ll keep eyes on sir Merek.”</p><p>“She could be anywhere!”</p><p>“And who’s fault is that?” He asks. He turns to Gaius. “Do you need help getting to a seat, Gaius?”</p><p>“No thank you, sire,” he says. “You should find sir Merek.” Arthur gives a respectful incline of his head and moves around the crowd to reach his rival. Merlin watches as Arthur leans between sir Merek and the knight on his left, a firm hand placed on sir Merek’s back. He says something with a forced smile and laughs at the same time sir Merek does. He straightens and tilts his head in the direction of the royal table, and sir Merek follows. As the pair moves to their new seats Arthur looks over the crowd and catches eyes with Merlin. He furrows his eyebrows and gives an urgent look to the servant entrance, his jaw set. Merlin sighs his frustration.</p><p>“Only Arthur could take charge of a plan to save his own life,” he says, and Gaius laughs and pats him on the arm.</p><p>Content that sir Merek is under a watchful eye Merlin slips into the servant’s entrance to the kitchens. It’s loud with clanging pots and shouting, and much hotter than the dining hall, and the closer he gets to the kitchens the more smoke clouds the air. He keeps himself pressed to the wall and tries not to bump into anyone, though the way they rush and dodge around each other makes it difficult.</p><p>“Corner!” A servant announces as she rounds into the hallway, a heavy tray of meat on her arm. She lifts it over her head and Merlin dips below it. She nods her gratitude on her way past.</p><p>The faces of servants move so quickly past him he cannot possibly categorize them all, but he attempts to do so anyways. Some give him nods and smiles, some smack his shoulders with enough force that their strong hands knock him off balance and say <em> watta night, huh! </em> Some bark out <em> behind! </em> and <em> left! </em>and barely apologize when they almost bowl him over. Not even Arthur, with his knighthood and grace, could keep up with how easily the servants duck and bob and weave around each other under trays of food and barrels of mead.</p><p>He’s just about to consider himself tired of being jostled about when he sees her, those same calculating eyes and thin lips curled into a frown. Merlin doesn’t hesitate to give chase, and he narrowly avoids being covered in food scraps on his way to her. He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her away before she reaches the dining hall. She makes to scream, but upon seeing Merlin her nose flares and she lets herself be dragged away in silence.</p><p>“What have you done?” He asks, when he’s comforted in the knowledge they’re well out of sight. </p><p>She looks him up and down, mouth set in a scowl, and says, “It appears you know full well what I’ve done.”</p><p>“You’ve tried to kill the prince,” he says, and she crosses her arms with a shrug. “Why? Why would you do this?”</p><p>“Why shouldn’t I?” She asks, cold eyes alight with rage. “King Uther took my mother from me when I was only a child. I was ostracized, I was chased, I lost everything. I am not powerful enough to take everything from that man as he took everything from me, but I can take away the one thing he can never replace.”</p><p>“You mean his <em> heir? </em> The man that could right Uther’s wrongs and ensure what happens in Camelot now will never happen again?”</p><p>“As if he ever would!” She says, and looks over her shoulder when she realizes the rise in her voice. Her next words are a whisper. “Prince Arthur has never been affected by magic for good or for poor. He knows only his father’s propaganda. He has no interest in my people.”</p><p>“You’re wrong,” Merlin says, “Arthur is a good man. He tried to stand up for--” <em> our people, </em> he starts, but he thinks better of it before it rolls off his tongue, “for your people to his father once already.”</p><p>“Once! In how many years of standing by?” She asks. “Uther is a cruel man, and his son deserves everything he gets.” Merlin shakes his head.</p><p>“I won’t let you.”</p><p>“You’re already too late,” she says through her teeth. Merlin’s eyes widen and he looks to the dining hall with concern. “You think I would be foolish enough to slip him the wine myself after being seen?”</p><p>“Give me the cure,” he says. She shakes her head. A laugh rises from her throat for the first time.</p><p>“No,” she says, “I don’t think I will.” Merlin holds her by the arm and gives her the most severe look he can muster. Her returning glare doesn’t waver.</p><p>“I’m not afraid to kill you,” he lies.</p><p>“I’m not afraid to die,” and she is telling the truth. “I hope his majesty is killed as ferociously as possible, and if you deign to step between…” she spits on the ground at his feet, “I hope you join him.” She wrenches her arm from him, and her eyes do not leave his until she can no longer crane her neck. The sorceress gathers her skirts and rushes away. Merlin rubs his forehead as he watches her.</p><p>Dread fills up his stomach as he goes back to find Arthur. He's slumped in his seat and nursing a goblet of wine as sir Merek and king Uther speak around him as if he isn't there.</p><p>Merlin taps Arthur on the shoulder.</p><p>"I need to speak with you," he says. Arthur straightens, but king Uther looks to him as well. Annoyance burdens his shoulders at Uther's attention before he can tamp it down.</p><p>"Should I not be informed of this as well?" King Uther asks.</p><p>"No," Merlin says, far too quickly. Arthur rubs his eye and sighs as he lowers his head. Merlin wishes only he could snap at him in front of the king. "It's... private."</p><p>"Surely nothing is too private to share with a king," he says. Merlin has to bite his tongue.</p><p>"It's about a maid," he says, and both men look at him like he's grown a third head. "Gwen...dolyn. You know," he says, and looks to Arthur with imploring eyes, "the one you're sweet on."</p><p>"Merlin!" Arthur moves to grab him, but pauses when his father laughs, deep bellied and drunken.</p><p>"Like I said, your majesty, it's private," Merlin says, and Uther waves his hand.</p><p>"I'm sure it is," Uther says, and sir Merek joins into the laughter. Arthur is as red as his tunic, and from how he sinks even further in his seat he surely wishes to hide under the table. Uther claps his son on the shoulder. "Go with the boy," he says. "I'm sure this is... an urgent matter."</p><p>Arthur rises from his seat and grabs a handful of Merlin's tunic on his way up. He pulls Merlin alongside him until they're in a secluded corner, far from prying eyes, where he pushes him away. He points his finger in Merlin's face.</p><p>"If you ever do something like that again--"</p><p>"You were the one that wanted to be included!" Merlin says, his hands raised.</p><p>"That doesn't mean tell my father I run about having affairs with maids!"</p><p>"You weren't helping me come up with anything better! And besides, Gwen says everyone does it. You would not believe who--"</p><p>"<em>There's a real Gwen?</em>" He asks, horror driving his voice up an octave.</p><p>"No! I mean, her name is Guine<em>vere</em>, not Gwendo<em>lyn</em>, but she does go by Gwen, so I suppose there could be some confusion there--"</p><p>"Merlin," Arthur says, and his hand reaches out as though he's restraining himself from putting Merlin in a chokehold, "I am going to <em>beat</em>--"</p><p>"Before you do that, though," Merlin interrupts, and steps away, "I have good news and bad news." Arthur's eyes narrow.</p><p>"Bad news first."</p><p>"I couldn't get the cure, and the sorceress claims sir Merek has already been dosed with the potion."</p><p>"How could you not get the cure if she was right in front of you?"</p><p>"It's not like I could force it from her," he says. "She lives to see Uther lose you. Enough to die for it if she must."</p><p>"Then I am to face sir Merek as he is. Fantastic. Wonderful." Arthur turns away with his hands on his hips. He pulls at the skin of his lips with his teeth. Merlin frowns, too sorry to put it into an apology. "What's the good news?"</p><p>"Huh?"</p><p>"The good news, Merlin, what is it?" He looks to Merlin, his eyes already tired. He wants to tell Arthur that the good news is he doesn't know the sorceress was telling the truth. She could have been bluffing, it could have been a ruse. It feels like a lie even in his own mind.</p><p>"The good news... is that tunic looks very good on you," he says.</p><p>His yelp of pain echoes along the hallway.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Merlin paces over the loose sand with his chest hot and the back of his neck prickly. Sir Merek stomps about the field of tents, silent and brooding and destroying everything that lay in his path, his eyes dark as the night. It was Merlin’s one job to prevent this exact situation, and nothing he’s done has had any effect. Merlin will be forced to watch Arthur die from his own inability to help.</p><p>“All we can do is hope,” Gaius tells him, standing steady and assured at his post just outside the arena.</p><p>“We shouldn’t have to hope,” he says miserably, “I should’ve-- I should’ve made her give me the cure.”</p><p>“And by what means? Torture?” Merlin shrugs, and Gaius puts a hand on his elbow. “Do not be ashamed that you are not that type of man, Merlin.” Merlin drops his head into his hands and sighs his grief. It would be much easier if he was. He worries his thumbnail between his teeth and waits for Arthur to enter the arena to pull him aside. He holds Arthur at arm’s length by his chain mail, unable to meet Arthur’s eyes.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says. Arthur scoffs and punches him in the shoulder.</p><p>“Come on, Merlin,” he says, “I didn’t think you’d actually help all that much.” Merlin’s shame passes enough for him to look at Arthur with annoyance. His heart sinks when he sees Arthur’s worry bitten lips and sunken eyes. “I’ve seen sir Merek fight. He may be strong, but his aggression makes him sloppy and thoughtless. He’s lost almost all skill, he leaves his body open for attack, and he doesn’t maintain his balance correctly. I’ll have no trouble taking that oaf down. And besides,” he knocks his knuckles against his chest plate with a wink, “I’ve got luck on my side.”</p><p>Arthur draws his sword and steps into the arena. He flicks his wrist to make it spin in his hand over and over. He straightens his helmet with the back of his hand and watches the entrance of the arena for sir Merek. As soon as he enters Arthur lowers his stance. The crowd cheers.</p><p>The horn blares when sir Merek is halfway to his opponent, as they know by now he will not wait for it. Arthur stays still and waits until sir Merek reaches him, until sir Merek raises his sword and throws his weight into a downward strike.</p><p>Arthur dodges left and avoids the strike completely. He kicks sir Merek in the back of the knee. Sir Merek stumbles and drops. He roars and turns at the waist to stab forward at Arthur. The blow is blocked by Arthur’s shield, but it still throws him backwards. He regains his balance and stays distant until sir Merek meets him.</p><p>Merlin watches with his hand in his hair.</p><p>“What the hell is he doing?” He asks Gaius as Arthur dodges a blow and whacks sir Merek’s helmet from behind with the flat of his blade. Gaius smiles as sir Merek whirls around and swings his sword before he even sees where Arthur stands, and Arthur deflects the blow to knee him in the gut.</p><p>“Being clever,” Gaius says.</p><p>Sir Merek charges Arthur and slashes at his head with his sword. When Arthur ducks away sir Merek brings the sword back around and clocks him from the other direction. The ring of Arthur’s struck helmet reaches Merlin from across the field. Arthur stumbles. Sir Merek advances on him and brings his sword down. The block from Arthur is haphazard, his shield barely raised fast enough, and Merlin can tell from across the field it wrenches his shoulder painfully when the sword makes contact. Arthur drops the shield, unable to hold its weight. He shakes out his arm as he backs away with his sword still raised.</p><p>He yells something taunting at sir Merek that Merlin cannot hear but makes sir Merek bellow and charge. Arthur stays steady, steady, steady until sir Merek is upon him and he dips low. He wraps his arms around sir Merek’s legs and uses the knight’s own momentum to throw him airborne. Arthur almost tumbles over himself but stays standing as sir Merek spills over onto the sand. He breathes hard and steps closer to pin sir Merek to the ground with his sword, but sir Merek collects himself before he gets close. He swings his sword and Arthur parries as he jumps away.</p><p>Every backwards step Arthur makes is chased by his opponent. He backs Arthur against the arena wall and the crowd scrambles away from them and trip over skirts and benches. Sir Merek brings his sword down, and Arthur dodges with only seconds to spare as the blade imbeds itself halfway into the wooden banister. Arthur ducks under his arm as sir Merek struggles to free his sword. He takes his opportunity then, delivers a brutal blow to sir Merek’s exposed torso. Sir Merek howls and crumples. </p><p>Arthur draws back his sword to repeat the move but sir Merek wrenches his sword free and swings it blindly to keep Arthur away. His sword is raised at just the right angle to slice straight through Arthur’s exposed neck. Merlin’s lungs seize closed. Time moves so, so slowly. A cool wave washes over Merlin’s shoulders and rolls behind his eyes before he knows where it came from or where it’s going, and his only thought is <em> he’s going to chop his head off </em> as sir Merek’s sword flies out of his hand in a way that could be, possibly, maybe, caused from a loose grip and too much force in his swing.</p><p>Arthur pauses and looks to the weapon on the ground. </p><p>Merlin cannot tell if the tremble in his sword is from fatigue or fear.</p><p>Arthur steps forward and swings his sword down on sir Merek’s arm with a wretched battle cry. He does so again at his shoulder. Sir Merek blocks the blows to his torso. Arthur works around it with well trained expertise. He turns his sword in his grip and raises his sword for an overhead swing, but when sir Merek’s shield raises to meet it he goes low and swings with all his might at his side. Sir Merek goes down. His shield flails and hits Arthur’s helmet. The metal cracks against Arthur’s nose. He wobbles on unsteady feet and removes his helmet with one hand. He shakes his head and his blood flings and lands on the sand. It drips from his nose to his upper lip and his chin. When he bares his teeth it colors them orange.</p><p>“<em> Yield! </em>” He roars, sword pressed to sir Merek’s throat. His breath comes so heavy his entire body moves with each ragged take of air. He kicks sir Merek’s hand. The knight does not take his eyes from Arthur as he raises his hand in surrender.</p><p>The crowd is a mixture of cheering and booing as Arthur withdraws his sword and throws it to the ground. He spits a bright orange wad of saliva and blood onto the sand and turns to his father.</p><p>King Uther, leaned forward in his seat, looks to sir Merek and frowns. He looks to his son and claps, a slight incline in his head to show his pride.</p><p>Morgana whistles her celebration from King Uther’s side. She bumps Gwen’s shoulder with her own, and Gwen raises her hands to her mouth to amplify her whoops.</p><p>The fight drains from Arthur at the sight of his praise. He wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his gloved hand and bows to his father. His feet drag as he steps away from the arena. Sir Merek rises to his feet behind him with much needed time. The beating he took from Arthur settles into his body with each second he stays still.</p><p>It is Arthur that Merlin flocks to, however, not the beaten down sir Merek.</p><p>“Are you alright?” He asks. Arthur can only grunt and wave his hand in an affirmative. “Let’s get you to Gaius’ tent,” he says, and directs Arthur by his shoulders. He is too tired to resist, and his hands shake so terribly from adrenaline it could be called a shiver.</p><p>He sits Arthur down on a cot and draws away to collect clean rags and the salve Gaius prepared for bruises and swelling. He kneels between Arthur’s legs and cleans blood from his face with a damp rag, delicate as not to hurt him further. Arthur smeared the blood over his cheek rather than cleaned it from his face at the arena, and it’s gone sticky and crusted already. He does not move as Merlin drags the rag over his chin, and he does not flinch when the rag touches the split open skin of his nose. Merlin rinses the rag in clean water and passes the rag over a second time to remove the watery orange that now tints his skin. He dabs his lips clean of blood, and Arthur’s grip on his own armor tightens with a creak of leather.</p><p>Merlin looks up at Arthur and sees him staring down at him with wide eyes, irises still strikingly blue despite his blown pupils. His heart thuds in his ears. He looks at Arthur's lips, chapped from a night of overthinking, and passes his tongue over his own. He drops the rag into the bowl of blood tinted water. Merlin contemplates taking on the lengthy process of removing Arthur's armor to check for bruises, but sits back on his heels instead.</p><p>“You almost died out there,” he says. His voice is barely a whisper.</p><p>“I wasn’t that out matched,” he answers with a crooked smile. “I told you, he was sloppy.”</p><p>“No,” he insists, “when his sword flew out of his hand.” Arthur’s eyebrow twitches.</p><p>“That was you?” Merlin nods. “I should thank you, then,” he says, “I thought he was going to take my head off.”</p><p>“That’s two times I’ve saved your life now, Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin says. The curl of his lips is smug. He expects Arthur to scoff, to argue, to shove him away and reject him once again. He does not expect the tired slump of his shoulders and the half hearted laugh he gives.</p><p>“I suppose it is," he says with a smile. He reaches under his armor and retrieves Merlin’s pendant. He pulls it off over his head with pinched eyebrows and a poorly concealed grunt of pain. He offers the pendant back to Merlin. The silver is warm from his body heat and a little wet with his sweat, which Merlin dries on his tunic. "There may have been a little bit of some possible truth to what the Dragon said."</p><p>"Just say I was right," Merlin says. Arthur looks away from him with pursed lips.</p><p>"Fine, you were right."</p><p>"And are you sorry?"</p><p>"No," he says through his teeth, "because you are an idiot." Merlin rolls his eyes.</p><p>"It's like pulling teeth, with you."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you got this far i hope you had as much fun reading this as i did writing it. fight scenes are my favorite!</p><p>and i'm sorry for taking two weeks to update, life has been insane and things have been really hard. hopefully things are looking up and i'll have more motivation to write. big big thank you to FutureAlien and one_more_page cause you're prrrrobably the reason i even got the will to post this. (go read their fics! they both have amazing wips rn and they're incredible writers). </p><p>love you all! -- yoyo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Stuck in the Middle with You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Morgana doesn’t understand. She couldn’t possibly. “I’m not courting anyone.”</p><p>“That’s incredibly convincing,” she says, “but I don’t care either way. It’s not my head.” She shrugs and inspects her immaculate nails. She turns a side eye to him. “It won’t be yours, either, you know.” Arthur’s stomach rolls. It’s suddenly very hot underneath his jacket.</p><p>“Shut up, Morgana,” he says.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this chapter... was not supposed to be such a bummer! but unfortunately arthur is going thru some shit and it's hash tag for the plot. it's also short! would you look at that</p><p>title track is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ln7Vn_WKkWU">here</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Trying to make some sense of it all,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>But I can see that it makes no sense at all,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Is it cool to go to sleep on the floor,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>'Cause I don't think that I can take anymore</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Here I am, stuck in the middle with you</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Arthur cannot for the life of him get comfortable. His nose throbs with the beat of his heart, and his shoulder is stiff and sore. A bruise has already taken hold in a sharp line from the inside corner of his eye to his upper lip where his helmet hit him, and it makes it hard to rest his head on the pillow. The day has left him with a god awful headache.</p><p>His pain is nothing compared to the heavy weight of his own thoughts.</p><p>He sits up in bed and holds his hand to his nose as blood rushes forward and makes his eyes water. He slips out from between the sheets and steps into his boots. He throws on a jacket for decency but doesn’t bother with a tunic, unsure he could even manage to get it over his head in this state.</p><p>Arthur peeks his head out of his door. The corridor is empty and dark. He exits his chambers. He makes his way down stairwells and into long forgotten hallways. There is only one thing going through his head, and it clouds his mind as though a heavy blanket was thrown over his brain.</p><p>He needs to talk to someone.</p><p>If you could even consider him a <em> someone </em>.</p><p>He takes a torch from the wall before he enters a corridor where the sconces remain unlit. He watches the flame flicker with the empty eyed focus only truly tired men can manage. How wonderful it must be to command such a thing at will. How good a person must be if they do not abuse it. Arthur sighs and walks on.</p><p>The Dragon isn’t waiting for him when he enters the cave. It gives him time to sit. He lowers himself to the ground and holds his breath so he doesn’t betray himself with any pitiful noises. Arthur raises his fingers to his lips and whistles.</p><p>The shrill sound echoes and bounces off the jagged walls of the cave. There’s a moment of silence before the metallic clang comes once again and Arthur hears the dry flap of the Dragon’s wings. He perches on the stone before Arthur’s ledge.</p><p>“The young Pendragon,” he says, in that curling way he does. Arthur draws his knee to his chest. “You look terrible.”</p><p>“How incredibly observant of you,” Arthur says. The Dragon shifts.</p><p>“Have you come to seek my council?”</p><p>“No,” he says. He looks down and drags his thumb across the sand, because he does not know if that is the truth. “Or… maybe. I’m not sure.”</p><p>“You either do or you do not,” he says. Arthur takes in a sharp inhale through his nose and a blood clot lodges in his throat from it. The taste of copper and phlegm makes him cough.</p><p>“I don’t trust you,” he says. It claws at him to know he promised Merlin that he would.</p><p>“Then we have something in common,” is the reply. He looks up and meets the Dragon’s golden eyes. They are so bright, so intelligent. He knows more than Arthur ever will. It scares him as much as it comforts him. “Why have you come here?”</p><p>“I don’t know where else to go,” he admits. “I’m so confused, I don’t--” Arthur presses the heel of his palm into the corner of his eye and the broken skin of his nose stings. “Nothing makes sense anymore. I thought I knew-- I thought I knew <em> everything </em>, and I didn’t know anything. I can’t tell what’s wrong and what’s right anymore. How am I to be this great king you speak of when I can no longer be certain of the choices I make?” The Dragon is still while he speaks, but when Arthur falls silent he sinks down and lays. The sigh he lets out is almost one of pity.</p><p>“You have much yet to learn,” the Dragon says. “You are still young, and arrogant, and this will not be the last time you are humbled. But such is necessary to make you a better king.”</p><p>“But--” Arthur twists his mother’s ring over his finger and worries his lip between his teeth. “How will I know what I am doing is right?”</p><p>“You won’t,” the Dragon says. Amusement tints his words. “It does not matter whether or not you will fail. That is not the question you need to ask yourself.”</p><p>“What is, then?” He asks, patience wearing thin. The Dragon’s long neck extends as he leans forward. His breath is dusty and sour like ash.</p><p>“When you have failed, will you choose to accept it with humility and grow, or will you be deluded by your pride as your father has been?” Anxiety twists within him as he contemplates what he has done and what he will do, every mistake and misstep that’s cost someone their life or their pride. He looks down, unable to hold the Dragon’s gaze, and rubs his palm with his thumb. “This question has already been answered.”</p><p>“By whom?”</p><p>“You aren’t the brightest, are you?” The Dragon asks. Arthur looks up only to glare. The Dragon rises, and his wings extend and stretch.  “It may be some time before you see it, young Pendragon, but you will. The man you are destined to be already lives within you.” Arthur rises to stand as the Dragon beats his heavy wings against the air. He struggles to be heard over the sound.</p><p>“Dragon, I still don’t understand. I need to know more--”</p><p>“I’m sure you do,” he says, “but you tire me, and I must rest.”</p><p>Arthur does not even get a chance to argue. The Dragon takes off into the air and he is left standing alone with only a half dead torch for light and company. He stoops to pick it up and holds his free hand to his side as the aching muscles protest.</p><p>Arthur journeys back to the world of reality no lighter than when he left it. He doesn’t know what he expected. The secret to life itself? The remedy to cure all ills? It’s his own fault for seeking the advice of someone who speaks in more circles than a bridge troll.</p><p>He is almost back to his chambers when a flash of white in the corner of his eye stops him. His hand moves to his hip but passes right over where his sword should be. He left it on his desk. Arthur turns fully to the flowing shape and relaxes with a sigh that slumps his shoulders.</p><p>It’s only Morgana.</p><p>“What the hell are you doing?” He asks. She’s still in her nightdress. Her hair is frizzy around her head and she’s barefoot. Morgana jumps and turns on her heel with her shoulders up to her ears, but she too relaxes when she realizes who’s spoken to her.</p><p>“I’m going on a walk,” she says, a plucked eyebrow raised in defiance, “what the hell are you doing?”</p><p>“It’s the middle of the night.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“And you don’t have shoes on.”</p><p>“Well… you don’t have a shirt on,” she says. Arthur reaches up to clasp a button of his jacket.</p><p>“I was seeing someone.”</p><p>“Ah, the unlucky Gwendolyn,” she says, her forefinger to her chin in thought. Arthur rolls his eyes and curls his lip, but she interrupts before he gets a chance to speak. “For her sake I hope she’s not more than a fling. Uther has strong opinions on courting commoners.”</p><p>“Father has strong opinions on many things he knows little of,” he says, and when her hand comes to rest on her hip and her head cocks to the side he pinches the bridge of his nose. The flash of pain makes him hiss from between his teeth. Morgana doesn’t understand. She couldn’t possibly. “I’m not courting anyone.”</p><p>“That’s incredibly convincing,” she says, “but I don’t care either way. It’s not my head.” She shrugs and inspects her immaculate nails. She turns a side eye to him. “It won’t be yours, either, you know.” Arthur’s stomach rolls. It’s suddenly very hot underneath his jacket.</p><p>“Shut up, Morgana,” he says.</p><p>“I’m just telling you to be careful.”</p><p>“I don’t need a warning.”</p><p>“Okay,” she says. She steps closer and puts a light hand on his arm. Even in the dim light it’s hard to miss the dark circles underneath her eyes, how her lower lids sag with the weight of the world. “You can walk with me, if you’d like. Fresh air does everyone good.” He does not need to answer. She would never wait for one anyway. Morgana holds out her arm, and Arthur snorts a laugh as he loops his own into the crook of her elbow and they set off on a walk with no destination, shirtless and barefoot and exhausted.</p><p>The two wander arm in arm through the castle and find themselves in the kitchens. With devious smiles and the same chittering laughter they held as children they fill their pockets with rolls and fruits and sweets. They make their way to an old tower, the same one they used to spend nights in under tents made of their blankets while he taught Morgana everything he learned in training with wooden swords they hid under their beds. A decade ago or more they laughed in that tower for the last time and neither of them knew it.</p><p>There is still a dusty blanket left on the ground and Arthur doesn’t doubt it was left by them all those years ago. He shakes it as clean as he can get it and throws it out the window that leads to a balcony just outside. Morgana climbs out first. Arthur second. They dump all their stolen treats onto the blanket between them.</p><p>They snack in silence under the stars. Arthur looks over to Morgana and admires how the pale moon makes her glow. Though Arthur was too young to remember Morgana’s father, it never escaped his notice that Morgana has Uther’s rounded nose, and that they have the same pale green eyes. She matches his intensity and his rage, and Arthur is too often out of his depth between them. He inherited everything from his mother, her fair hair and her cupid’s bow and her sensitivity. To look at the three of them would have you believe <em> he </em> was the king’s ward and not the other way around, and the older they get the more uncanny she becomes.</p><p>They’ve grown apart with age, as all little boys and little girls do when they’ve been forced to have nothing in common. But a part of him wonders as Morgana rubs the palm of her hand with her thumb. He wonders if a small, hidden part of him has pushed her away in contempt of a truth he will not admit.</p><p>“Did you have a nightmare?” He asks, because every second longer finds another of Uther’s features in hers and it makes his skin itch with a desperation to get away from it all. Morgana’s lips press together.</p><p>“Yes,” she says. “Gaius’ draughts don’t seem to be working anymore.” The despair in her voice makes Arthur’s heart squeeze. “I’m so frustrated… You have no idea what it’s like to be so tired you feel like you’re going mad,” she says, and clenches her fists in her lap. “Sometimes it’s like I don’t know what’s real.”</p><p>If Arthur was a better man he would reach out and hold her. He would tell her she was going to be alright, and one day she would sleep through the night without waking in a sweat. He knows he should, but he cannot will himself to give that kind of comfort, and he can’t comfort her with a patted back and punched shoulder as he does his knights.</p><p>So he slides down against the wall, and the stone is course on his back. He takes a blueberry from between them and rolls it between his fingers until it’s bruised and soft. Arthur turns his head to look at Morgana with her worried brow and mournful mouth, aims, and flicks it at her eye.</p><p>“What--” Morgana whips her head back in an over dramatic flinch. When she looks back at him with her eyebrows furrowed and and eyes squinted there’s a purple stain on her cheekbone. Arthur, pleased with his aim, grins wide and laughs. Morgana leans forward and takes a handful of strawberries. She crushes them in her fist and shoves them in Arthur’s face. He’s pinned himself to the wall by laying down and can’t even try to pull away. Strawberry seeds imbed into his teeth.</p><p>“Get--” Arthur grabs a sweet roll from between them and covers her hair with icing as he drags it over her head, and she kicks his leg for it but she’s laughing. “Get <em> away </em> from me--” </p><p>“You started it, you child,” she says, and sits back when he shoves her. Her nails and the hems of her sleeves are stained a brilliant red and the front of her dress is covered in fallen crumbs. Her already mussed hair has been turned into a rat’s nest of icing and fruit. But her teeth shine and her nose crinkles when she smiles.</p><p>“There you go,” he says. She would never thank Arthur for anything, but it comes through clear when she lays next to him with the tension in her shoulders eased.</p><p>They fall asleep on the balcony as the sun breaks over the far away line of trees. Even Morgana does not rise until well past noon.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The afternoon leaves him with a splitting headache. It clamps around his skull as if someone put his head in an anvil, and it will not abate. The pain is so great he cannot hear his father speaking to him directly, let alone hear himself think. Uther suggests he pays a visit to Gaius. Arthur vaguely remembers that he might know the way there.</p><p>The walk to Gaius’ chambers is one he cannot recall from the haze of pain, and the two steps it takes to get there are hours long. He knocks once before he lets himself in. The room is so thick with smoke and herbs he could cut it with his sword. Merlin sits at the bench in the middle of the room and scribbles something onto parchment. He fiddles with the leather band of his necklace. He bites his lower lip, taps the tip of his quill on the parchment, and scratches out what he’s written with a frustrated sigh. He drops the quill on the table and rubs his eyes.</p><p>Arthur knocks on the table to pull his focus away.</p><p>“Is Gaius in?” He asks. Merlin looks up and his head cocks to the side as he smiles. Arthur taps on the table with his finger to keep from smiling back in turn.</p><p>“Just stepped out, actually,” he says, “you look terrible.”</p><p>“And who’s fault is that?” He says, though he doesn’t truly blame him. “When is he going to be back? I need to see him.”</p><p>“I have no idea. He just said it was something to do with Morgana.” Arthur hums. “Do you need me to take a message?”</p><p>“No. I was going to see about my headache.”</p><p>“Oh.” Merlin swings his legs over the bench and stands. He gestures to the seat. “I could help with that.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“It’s a headache, Arthur. Sit down.” Arthur sits. Merlin looks through Gaius’ cabinet of glass vials and jars until he finds one of the bigger ones with a large label that has <em> feverfew </em> written in Gaius’ cursive. Arthur rests his elbows on the table and watches him pour a small dose into a vial with his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.</p><p>“What were you writing?” He asks, and turns his eyes downward to look at the piece of parchment that sits between his elbows. The pain in his head makes it impossible to read it even if he wants to. Merlin hands him the vial.</p><p>“Hold it under your tongue,” he says when Arthur tips it back to drink. He sits next to him, back leaned against the table and thigh flush against Arthur’s own. “A letter to my mother,” he says, and taps the parchment with his middle finger. He sighs through his nose. Arthur swallows and pretends to read the first few lines of writing.</p><p>“Sorry for running away to live with forest people and never sending you word of my safety, letting you assume my death.” It holds the cadence of reading aloud. Merlin laughs and turns his head away.</p><p>“It doesn’t say that,” he says.</p><p>“It should.”</p><p>“I know.” Merlin tugs on the band of his necklace. His chin juts forward when he gives a nervous swallow. “It’s hard… I can’t tell her everything. Not written down. It’s too dangerous, y’know?” His smile squints his eyes, but Arthur can still tell they fill with tears. “And I can’t even try to send word to the druids,” he says, “If Uther caught wind of their location...” Arthur’s eyebrows come together and he looks away. It’s impossible to hear such things and ignore the guilty tug in his chest at the same time.</p><p>“I…” <em> I’m a coward. I should have done better. For them. For you. </em> “I’m sorry.” Merlin shrugs. “It’ll be different when I’m king. I promise.”</p><p>“Of course it will be,” he says, and reaches out to skate his knuckles against the back of Arthur’s hand. He looks up at Arthur with those blue eyes bright with a kindness and optimism that don’t belong in someone that carried Merlin’s burden. “It’s your destiny.” </p><p>Arthur bites his lip and looks down at their hands, and though his brain is muddled from hours of pain it dawns on him what he’s missed. Merlin may not be aware of it, and he may be, but his burden is not his alone to bear - even if he wants it to be. Arthur is no different. When Arthur cannot trust himself to know what is right, he can trust Merlin to be by his side and guide him.</p><p>In the Dragon's own words, their path is one they walk hand in hand.</p><p>His lungs grow twice the size of his ribs in his chest, and he wonders what would happen if he turned his hand over and twined Merlin’s fingers with his own. He can allow himself to think that Merlin would let him, would even want him to. The notion overwhelms him. His thumb twitches. He could. He should.</p><p>But in everything there is one thing he is certain of, and it’s that he cannot be responsible for yet another nail in Merlin’s coffin.</p><p>He pulls away.</p><p>And he pretends he doesn’t notice how Merlin sighs.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i have a tumblr now!! my user is <a href="https://sterlingdylan.tumblr.com/">sterlingdylan.</a> come say hi and send me like writing suggestions or whatever people do on there</p><p>NOW BEFORE YOU GET MAD... i'd like you all to remember that arthur's "me and gwen can never happen bc of our social standing" angst was a really big thing in canon and he's a giant dumbass that just wants to protect everyone. even if that person is the most powerful sorcerer to ever live. it felt more realistic to have arthur be a moron than just have them smooch. sorry :(</p><p>okay i'm done lmao love you!! -- yoyo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Run Through the Jungle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Who the hell are you?” He asks, and Gwaine huffs a laugh. “Where are we?”</p><p>“I’m Gwaine,” he says, “and you’ve landed yourself in the last place you will ever be.” Arthur’s lip curls. He’s just about tired of people and their riddles.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>[bursts out of the underbrush koolaid man style covered in dirt with this chapter in hand] YOWZA... these two months kicked my ass. i fell into a total black hole with this fic, ngl, this is about the 50th draft of this chapter. please take it from my hands so i never have to look at it again</p><p>also, i edited the tags! nothing major, but i'd take a look.</p><p>chapter track title <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_7PUPNxsRQ0">here</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> Whoa, thought it was a nightmare, Lord, it's all so true </em> <em><br/></em> <em> They told me, don't go walking slow, the devil's on the loose </em> <em><br/></em> <em> Better run through the jungle </em> <em><br/></em> <em> Better run through the jungle </em> <em><br/></em> <em> Better run through the jungle </em> <em><br/></em> <em> Don't look back to see </em></p><p> </p><p>He’s drifted off. He knows he’s drifted off, but he can’t seem to reign his focus back in on the matter at hand. Something about grain stores, something about smugglers, something about taxes something something. No matter what it is, it’s something he has little say in and even less interest in. Yet his attendance is vital for the day he actually <em> does </em> get a say in any of it.</p><p>Arthur rests his head in his palm and glances over the room. Merlin leans on the back of Gaius’s chair with his posture drooping from boredom and his eyes fixed on a far off point in space. He twists a loose thread on the stupid neckerchief he's taken to wearing between his fingers. He’s here for the same reason Arthur is, it’s a part of his apprenticeship. If Gaius retires within this century Merlin will have to be prepared to take over his role in the council. </p><p>He smiles at that - a sorcerer at the heart of Camelot, making decisions and guiding the people. His eyes wander up and down as he imagines Merlin as a member of the council. A little older, a little wiser, wearing a little more form fitting clothes perhaps. He idly chews his lip as he considers something bright red. Camelot colors. <em> Pendragon </em> colors.</p><p>His father clearing his throat makes him jump. His stomach flips over with guilt. He shifts in his seat and tries to pretend like he’s been listening.</p><p>“What do you think?” Uther asks. Ah, hell.</p><p>“You already know what I think,” Arthur says, laden with diplomacy and false confidence. Uther smiles and squeezes his shoulder.</p><p>“Of course I do,” Uther says. He addresses the council. “The motion passes. A patrol will set out in the morning, led by my son Arthur.” Arthur rubs his forehead to hide a grimace behind his hand.</p><p>
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</p><p>The patrol consists of Leon, Tobyn, and Merlin, not including Arthur himself. At Uther’s request they’ve forgone their plate armor and chainmail for tunics and trousers. They talk over their horses as they secure their saddlebags and double check their tacks. Merlin is in conversation with a handmaid that Arthur recognizes but can’t place. She looks down and away as she laughs and tucks a stray bit of hair behind her ear. Merlin’s cheeks are pink as he scratches the back of his head. He holds a sword close to his chest.</p><p>“Okay. Well, um, thank you,” Merlin says.</p><p>“No need to thank me,” she says, “I want you to have it. So you can come back safe, you know.”</p><p>“I will. Knights honor.” When she laughs it floats by Arthur’s ears like a love song.</p><p>“You’re not a knight.”</p><p>“Maybe, but I’ve still got honor.”</p><p>“Since when?” Arthur cuts in, and Merlin’s face falls from rosy to annoyed the moment he speaks. He looks over his shoulder to glare. Arthur fluffs at the attention, but turns back to the saddlebags on his horse before Merlin could possibly notice. He gives the buckles on his saddle a couple hard pulls to ensure their security and not because his hands need something to do.</p><p>“I’ll see you in a few days,” Merlin says. “People in the middle of a forest disappearing can’t be that big of a mystery.”</p><p>“I’ll miss you,” she answers. Arthur glances over to see her reach out and Merlin duck down to pull her into a tight hug. Something sinks in his chest, and he clears his throat to get himself to ignore it. “Stay out of trouble, don’t be stupid.” Merlin laughs.</p><p>“No promises.” They stand there in silence for a moment before Merlin points to his own horse. “I’m gonna--”</p><p>“Yes-- of course.” She waves him on. “I’ll see you. Bye.”</p><p>Merlin chuckles as he says, “Okay. Bye.” He waves her goodbye, and she starts walking away at the same time he walks backwards into his own horse. Arthur snorts as he mounts his horse in one fluid motion. Leon and Tobyn follow. It takes Merlin several tries, to the delight of them all.</p><p>They ride for the west.</p><p>It’s over a day’s ride to the western border. The sun rises in the sky as the hours tick by ever so slowly, and the only thing worse than the heat is the silence. The rhythm of hoofbeats is maddening. Arthur may be a stubborn man, but it doesn’t take very long for him to crack.</p><p>“Rather pretty girl you’ve got there, Merlin,” Arthur says. Merlin lets out a light laugh and keeps his eyes forward.</p><p>“I don't know what you're talking about."</p><p>“You don’t have to lie to us. That handmaid, I can tell you fancy her.”</p><p>“Her name is Gwen. Not that you would know, because you don’t talk to the servants.” Arthur rolls his eyes. There are several things Merlin can't seem to wrap his head around in castle life, and rank is one of them. Arthur has long given up trying to explain.</p><p>“Oh, the infamous <em> Gwen </em>,” he says, sarcasm thick in his voice. “I notice you haven’t said you don’t fancy her.” Merlin finally spares him a glance then. There’s a strain in his smile that makes Arthur’s lips twitch upwards.</p><p>“Because anyone with a brain could tell we're just friends.” He bats his eyelashes. “I understand why you're having difficulty.” Leon, quiet behind them for the past several miles, snorts. He hides his smiling mouth by rubbing his nose when they turn to look at him. </p><p>“Don’t try and be smart, it doesn’t suit you,” Arthur says, and Merlin snickers.</p><p>“Someone has to do it.”</p><p>“That person is me, if I recall.”</p><p>“Since when?” Merlin says, and he doesn’t even attempt to hide his grin when Arthur scoffs.</p><p>“Since-- Since forever. Shut up.” </p><p>“You started the conversation,” he says through a laugh.</p><p>“And now I’m ending it,” Arthur answers quickly. Merlin turns in his saddle to ask the knights if Arthur is <em> always </em> so incredibly annoying on quests such as this. Leon clears his throat and politely declines to answer, at which point Arthur calls him a traitorous coward. Merlin and Tobyn both break into laughter, and the air is lighter with their jokes than it is heavy with the heat.</p><p>There isn’t another quiet moment, not when they stop at midday to eat and rest their horses and not when they make camp that night. Tobyn reveals himself to be an incredible bard, and as they collect firewood they hum along to his ballads of love and adventure. They shout out concepts and lines at him as he tries to create one on the spot, and halfway through a particularly vulgar ballad they laugh themselves into stomach cramps.</p><p>Merlin gets Arthur so caught up in a story about a constellation that he lays down his bedroll beside Merlin’s, and he doesn’t realize how close they are until their shoulders touch. They lay on their backs and watch the sky, Arthur with his ankles crossed and Merlin’s knee bumping his.</p><p>“In the end, she was so despaired by his death that she put him in the stars to honor him.” Merlin shifts, and there are eyes burning into the side of Arthur’s face. “Can you imagine that? To love someone so much you put them in the sky?” Arthur twists his hands together where they rest on his stomach. His gaze follows the line of the dragon, its long waving body and its head of four stars. His heart beats so loudly in his ears he can’t hear himself think. His mouth is so horribly dry.</p><p>“No,” he answers, tone still dry and sarcastic despite how small the word comes out. Merlin elbows him in the side with a light laugh.</p><p>“Goodnight, Arthur,” he says, and makes a noisy affair of shuffling away to put space between them. He isn’t more than a foot away. Arthur can still hear him breathe. But when the echoes of Merlin’s body heat on his arm fade away completely, he is alone by miles.</p><p>“Goodnight,” he whispers.</p><p>
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</p><p>Arthur pushes them to ride out as early as possible the next morning. Merlin and Tobyn delay them by insisting on breakfast. They cajole Leon into admitting he, too, is hungry, and then it’s a majority rule and Arthur is not unkind enough to pull rank on his men for something as small as breakfast. Despite his many complaints they still arrive by midday.</p><p>The village is deathly quiet when they arrive. Women glare up at them from their doorsteps as they chop firewood, feed their pigs, and do their laundry. Old men step aside and watch them pass. Teenagers glower from their perches on fence posts as they sharpen knives and axes.</p><p>Arthur glances to Leon, and the question in his brow is all the answer he needs.</p><p>There’s not a single man older than eighteen and younger than fifty in town.</p><p>“Split up,” Arthur orders, “start asking questions. Meet back here before the sun sets.” Leon and Tobyn nod and urge their horses forward. They take two different directions. Merlin follows along with Arthur. “That means everyone,” he says.</p><p>“I’m not everyone,” he answers, and Arthur rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. A little part of him that he can’t tamp down is glad that Merlin doesn’t want to run off at the first excuse.</p><p>The two dismount and lead their horses to a hitching rail just outside the tavern. They step inside with Arthur in the lead. Merlin’s nose crinkles when the smell of soured barley hits his nose, and Arthur does the same when his boot sticks to the floor.</p><p>Without young men to fill it up it’s desolate, with only a handful of patrons that linger inside. They all turn to look at them. The barkeep pauses in cleaning a wooden tankard and stares them down.</p><p>“Hello,” Arthur says with as bright a smile as he can muster, and raises his hand in greeting. Merlin presses his lips together and gives his own weak wave. “May we sit?” The barkeep sets down the tankard and leans on the bar. He nods to the empty seats in front of him. The two men share a weighted look, but sit down.</p><p>“Where you hail from?” He asks.</p><p>“Not much of anywhere,” Merlin jumps in before Arthur can answer with the truth, his tongue curling in the barest of a rural drawl, “we’re travelers. Just stopping to rest.” The barkeep turns his back on them to pour mead they haven’t yet asked for. Arthur smacks Merlin’s shoulder with the back of his hand and mouths <em> what are you doing? </em> Merlin dismisses him with a raised hand. They watch the barkeep with innocent intrigue written over their faces when he turns back to them. </p><p>“You lads aren’t from near here, then,” he says, and they shake their heads. He leans in close, and crooks his fingers to draw them in closer. He lowers his voice. “That case I’ll put you on to some advice: don’t stick around.”</p><p>“Why?” Arthur asks. Merlin nods and crosses his arms over the bartop.</p><p>“These past months, men been disappearing. You probably noticed we don’t have many fellows your age about.”</p><p>“A bit hard to miss,” Merlin says. “How’ve they been going missing?”</p><p>“No idea, son. They disappear at night. Not a soul’s ever seen them go, just noticed ‘em missing in the morn.” Arthur rests his elbow on the table and rubs his forehead. He taps his fingers on the tabletop.</p><p>“Are there any patterns among the missing, besides their age?” Arthur asks. The barkeep shakes his head.</p><p>“None. At first it was just locals, but even drifters have been disappearing. I had a kid sleeping behind the bar, paying off his tab by working for me. Woke up one morning and he was gone.” Arthur frowns behind a sip of mead.</p><p>“Are you sure he didn’t just skip town to avoid paying you?”</p><p>“<em> Merlin-- </em>”</p><p>“We were both thinking it--”</p><p>“No,” the barkeep interrupts, “it’s not possible. His horse and all his things were still here.” Arthur bites his lip and studies the grain on the bartop as he thinks. Missing people in outlying towns are common. They drown in the rivers where they collect their water and do their laundry, are attacked by wildlife, even slip away in the night to different places. But those disappearances are random, unrelated to their age and gender.</p><p>“Thank you,” Arthur says. He takes a few gold pieces too many from the pouch at his belt and places them on the bar. “We’ll be sure to heed your warning.” The barkeep nods his gratitude and takes the gold pieces. They drink in silence for as long as the barkeep lingers. Merlin stares into his tankard and taps his thumb on the side.</p><p>“Men of a certain age disappearing without a trace in the middle of the night,” Arthur says quietly when the barkeep has left to tend to another patron. Merlin looks at him from the corner of his eye. “Do you think…?”</p><p>“Maybe. I don’t know what kind of creature could do such a thing, though. Or would.”</p><p>“Ritual sacrifice, then.” Merlin goes so far as to laugh. Arthur knocks his knuckles on the bartop and turns at the waist to face him. “What’s so ridiculous about that, then?”</p><p>“Just--” Merlin presses his lips together and gesticulates. “You can’t just <em> do </em> a ritual sacrifice, Arthur. Ceremonies like that are done on certain stages of the moon, or on solstices, or under the stars at exact times of the year. Maybe if people were disappearing in small numbers over time, but they’ve taken all the men from this town in a few months.”</p><p>“You’re telling me it can’t be a sacrifice because the sky isn’t in the right order for it?” He asks, lip curled. Merlin lets out a sharp breath and mutters to himself.</p><p>“It’s like someone celebrating your birthday four months late,” he says. “It might as well not even be for your birthday, it’s just an excuse for a party. Sacrificial magic is complex, you have to get it just right for it to do anything significant. A sacrifice done incorrectly is… well, it’s just murder.”</p><p>“It’s murder either way, Merlin.”</p><p>“But do you see my point?” Merlin asks, and Arthur rubs his eyes. He supposes he does, but Merlin’s intimate knowledge of such things doesn’t put him at ease. He tips back his mug of mead and drains half of it in one sip. When he sets his mug back down he motions for Merlin to do the same.</p><p>“Drink up. I want to look around the rest of this town.”</p><p>Everyone is as unhelpfully forthcoming as the next. Everyone knows someone who disappeared, a brother or a husband or a father, and they're all happy to discuss them at length, but not a single one of them saw it happen. They’re all starting to lose hope that the missing will ever come back home.</p><p>"Are you going to do that stupid voice with everyone we talk to?" Arthur asks as they walk down the road with the reigns of their horses in hand.</p><p>"Country folk respond better to other country folk," Merlin says, and Arthur raises an eyebrow in confusion. "Oh, come on, you have to know how much people dislike nobles."</p><p>"People do not dislike nobles. They've been nothing but courteous to me."</p><p>"And someone is going to be <em> rude </em> to a prince?" He asks, his head tilted to the side. He watches Arthur ponder the question with amusement in the dimples of his cheeks. "You ride in with your fancy clothes and your elocution lessons-- they can smell it on you. You have nobility stink."</p><p>"Nobility--" Arthur interrupts himself with a sharp laugh. "You're completely ridiculous. Do you even hear the words that come out of your mouth?"</p><p>"Unfortunately." He says. His attention drifts over Arthur's shoulder and he jerks his chin forward. Arthur turns to look.</p><p>A woman stands on her doorstep across the road. She looks between them with worry in her brow and holds a blanket around herself with a hand that's been gnarled from arthritis. She looks like the witches from stories Arthur would read as a child, harrowed and bent over. He isn’t certain if it’s cause for sympathy or fear.</p><p>Arthur crosses the road to speak to her, and Merlin follows.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” Her voice is watery and weak.</p><p>“Just passing through, miss,” Merlin says. His tone is gentle and light, and his shoulders slouch just a little when he speaks so he can meet her eyes. Arthur watches him with a quirked brow.</p><p>“Then pass through. And do it quickly.”</p><p>“That’s the general consensus,” Arthur says. The woman tilts her head to the side, one eyebrow lifted. It may be confusion, but it may also be contempt.</p><p>“Everyone seems to be saying the same thing,” Merlin says. He steps close and puts a comforting hand on her upper arm. She looks up at him with her gummy eyes and puts her hand over his. “You wouldn’t happen to know why that is, would you?”</p><p>“You seem like nice lads,” she says, quiet as a mouse. She takes a step backwards into her doorway, and her grip on Merlin’s hand makes him take that step with her. Discomfort comes over him in an instant and Arthur follows, touching a hand to Merlin’s elbow, ready to grab him in case her jaw unhinges and she tries to drag Merlin into an abyss of some kind. Surely witches don't do such things, but Merlin's talk of sacrifices has him on edge, and losing him in such a grisly way simply won't do. “Come in and have some tea.”</p><p>They allow themselves to be led into her home. It smells of spices and herbs and the washing soap used only by those not born of nobility, the kind Arthur smells when Merlin invades his space or a servant bends over him to refill his wine. She sits them down at her small table and Merlin stretches his leg until his boot touches Arthur’s. Arthur hooks their ankles together. </p><p>“It started some months ago, but I can’t tell you the right time,” she says as she readies three cups. A pot of water is already heating up at the fireplace. “People go missing sometimes around these parts. You know how it is. But then more and more of our men started to disappear. It kept on until we started waking up just to see who went missing in the night.” She stares at the fire for a long, silent moment with her back facing the two men. “It took my son,” she says softly. </p><p>“It?” They ask at the same time. She looks over her shoulder at them and then turns fully.</p><p>“Snatching up our boys in the middle of the night-- what else could it be?” She comes closer and Merlin none too subtly leans forward with his arm resting on the table in front of where Arthur sits, as if to make a barrier. “It takes them right from their beds, don’t even hear ‘em scream, what person can do that?”</p><p>“You’re suggesting a creature of magic,” Merlin says. She nods and lowers herself into the only other chair at the table with a sigh.</p><p>“My son… he was the purest soul you’ll ever meet in your life. Never hurt a man that didn’t have it coming - oftentimes not even then. His wife is pregnant with their first baby,” she says, and Arthur stares at herbs she’s bundled and hung from the ceiling to keep from looking at her mournfuk face, “she’s due any day now. I can’t think a person could be so evil to take him from us. Only something born of <em> magic </em> could hold that darkness in its heart.” Arthur swallows a wince. Merlin grips the edge of the table so hard the wood creaks.</p><p>“I’m sorry for your loss,” Arthur says softly, and she nods. “If there was anything we could do, we would do so.”</p><p>“I just fear for our boys,” she says. “What happens when they come of age? Or this <em> thing </em> decides our men aren’t enough, and starts taking our women, too? We can’t go on like this.” She rises from her seat and starts pouring hot water from the pot with a ladle.</p><p>As they drink their tea she tells them stories of her son, tales of his kindness and virtue. Merlin crosses one arm over his chest and fidgets with the pendant under his tunic with his other hand. He only touches his tea when Arthur kicks his boot. He looks out of the lone window and doesn’t say a word until they’re well out of the woman’s home.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Everyone in this town’s insane,” Tobyn tells them, when they've made their camp just out of town and lounge around the fire to tell their stories of the afternoon. “How do you let half your people go missing?"</p><p>“It could be magic,” Leon supplies. He looks to Merlin, as if he doesn’t know. “Dangerous stuff, that magic. A sorcerer could be using the men in a ritual to gain power.” Merlin keeps his empty gaze on the fire and grits his teeth. His hands curl into fists in his lap. Arthur’s chest squeezes. He elbows him in the side, but Merlin won’t look up at him.</p><p>“If it’s a sorcerer, I’ve got dibs,” Tobyn says, and pats his sword on his hip. Arthur tries and fails to not curl in on himself. Merlin smooths his hand over his neckerchief.</p><p>“That’s a little needlessly blood thirsty, don’t you think?” He asks quietly, and glances up from the fire to look at Tobyn. Tobyn scoffs.</p><p>“For a sorcerer? Not in the slightest.” Arthur forces a smile and scratches behind his ear. He doesn't know where this came from, he never knew Tobyn to say things that made Arthur's skin crawl in this way. Maybe he never noticed it before. Maybe he never cared enough to take issue with it before.</p><p>“Tobyn, that’s not very--”</p><p>“This sorcerer has been kidnapping people for months, Merlin,” Leon says gently. “You can’t be merciful.”</p><p>“That may be true, but for the fact there's no way a sorcerer would have hurt these people,” Merlin argues. He leans forward and makes a sweeping gesture towards the empty woodland around them. "If a sorcerer killed this many people for power they would be able to take over all of Camelot by now. Do you see anyone that powerful here, Leon? Because I don't."</p><p>"What would you know of sorcery?" Leon presses, a sudden tension in his shoulders. Merlin opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water, realizing too late the trap he’s set for himself.  Arthur looks between them with wide eyes.</p><p>“Perhaps it’s slave traders,” he supplies. “We’ve been getting more and more reports of smugglers around these parts. They must know if they get them across the border we can't follow with our swords drawn. Not without threatening a war."</p><p>“Then there’s nothing we can do,” Leon says, and his gaze lingers on Merlin for a moment longer than what makes Arthur comfortable. “We need to return to the king and tell him what we’ve learned. He could speak to Caerleon and give us passage.”</p><p>Arthur takes in a breath to argue, then stops before he says anything. He has to remind himself that Leon is a knight of Camelot and member of the council, sworn to uphold the crown, before he is Arthur’s friend. Being able to hold one's tongue is the greatest diplomatic skill. </p><p>Yet another concept Merlin fails to understand.</p><p>“What about the people that will go missing tomorrow, while we travel to Camelot? Or next week, while we wait for Caerleon?” He asks, his eyebrow raised in a challenge. “We were sent here to help. You would leave with our duty still unfulfilled?”</p><p>“We cannot risk a war for these people,” Leon says. “It’s the diplomatic choice.” Merlin laughs as though Leon’s told a ridiculous joke. In Merlin’s eyes he has, and even though Arthur knows that Leon is right he can’t help but agree.</p><p>“I don’t give a damn about <em> diplomacy </em>--”</p><p>“I don’t remember your opinion being one that matters.” Leon doesn’t move when Merlin rises with his fists clenched at his sides. He is secure in his rank and his ignorance of Merlin’s power, though Arthur is not and his worry builds when he thinks of how quickly this could get out of hand. “Sit back down, if you know what’s good for you.” Merlin’s nostrils flare. Tobyn looks on with an anticipatory grin and his tongue between his teeth. Merlin takes a step forward. Arthur smacks his leg with a forced laugh.</p><p>“Did you nick an extra mead at the tavern?” He asks, and when Merlin looks down at him the anger in his eyes flickers like a fire doused with water. “Sir Leon is a knight of Camelot. Don’t be stupid,” he says through his teeth as a warning, and gives Leon a pointed glance. Merlin looks over to Leon. He doesn’t break eye contact as he joins Arthur on the ground once more.</p><p>“I like you, Merlin,” Leon says, “but it would do you well to remember your place.” Merlin bristles. The rigidity in his body points him close to jumping up once more and smiting Leon right then and there. Arthur doesn’t doubt for a moment he could.</p><p>“Let’s all eat before we go mad, yeah?” Arthur says in an attempt to dispel the tension that's gone sticky in his lungs. He rests a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “We ride for Camelot at dawn, and send a patrol back to protect the village while we wait for news from Caerleon.” The two men don’t disagree further, and the matter is blessedly laid to rest.</p><p>And yet frustration lingers in him like a boiling pot ready to blow its lid. Leon is right. If they cross the border and rumors spread they could spark up a war. A war with Caerleon <em> and </em> Cenred would cripple Camelot. It's only one village. It's not worth the risk. To leave and return with permission is the smart choice.</p><p>And yet, and yet. Merlin's anger is justified. These people are vulnerable and scared and they need help, and if anyone can provide that help it's them. How many people will be taken by the time they go through the proper channels? What if they start taking the women and the children in the time it takes them to get a patrol back here and guard the people of this village? If Arthur abandons them, their blood is on his hands.</p><p>It's a choice he's had to make many times, whether he will be smart or be kind. He's made the wrong choice, before.</p><p>He doesn't intend to do so again.</p><p>Arthur volunteers to take the first watch when they settle down for bed, and soon he is left alone with a dying fire and three sleeping bodies. He waits until the moon is overhead to pack his things. He winces at every crunch of leaves and jingle of metal.</p><p>Arthur has his head ducked as he adjusts his sword’s scabbard around his waist when he feels something sharp press into his back. </p><p>His heart thuds in his mouth.</p><p>“Boo.”</p><p>“<em> Merlin! </em>” Arthur whispers as he turns on his heel, and bats the sword in Merlin’s hand away from him with his forearm. The sword almost slips out of his grip entirely. “Where did you even get that thing?”</p><p>“Gwen gave it to me. Her father made it.” Merlin waves the blade in his face to present it. Arthur ducks backwards before it maims him, and he shoves Merlin's chest with one hand and twists the sword from him with the other as Merlin watches with wide eyes. Arthur takes him by the belt and sheaths the sword into its scabbard. His voice drops dangerously low as he looks from Merlin’s eyes to his lip between his teeth.</p><p>“Never, ever, <em> ever </em>, do that nonsense again. Unless you want me to kill you.” His chest flutters as Merlin’s breath hitches. He pats Merlin's cheek a little harder than necessary and receives a glare in return. “Do you understand?”</p><p>“Yes,” he says, gruff with contempt.</p><p>“Good.” He takes a step back. “Now what on earth are you doing?”</p><p>“I’m going with you,” he says. He spreads his arms and puts on a winning smile. Arthur raises his eyebrows, unamused.</p><p>“To the bathroom?”</p><p>“You’re bringing a sword to the bathroom?”</p><p>“There are kidnappers on the loose, Merlin, I’m not going anywhere alone unarmed.” Merlin points to the bag half hanging on Arthur’s horse.</p><p>“You’ve packed a bag.” Arthur takes a deep, steadying breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. Merlin starts again before he has the chance to speak. “I came here for you, Arthur. You’re not leaving me with the chuckle twins while you run off on your own.”</p><p>“We have no real evidence on what’s causing these disappearances,” Arthur says. “We could be met with something fatal.” He knows that Merlin knows the stakes, and that if worse comes to worst Merlin can handle himself. But he wants to give him a chance to back out, to stand down and let Arthur go it alone. </p><p>“All the more reason to bring me along,” he says. He steps around Arthur and detaches the bag from his horse to place it in Arthur’s hands. His smile softens around the edges into something more genuine. “My place is by your side.”</p><p>Arthur's heart stutters to a stop at those words and he finds himself lost in Merlin's eyes, wide and amused and completely unaware of the effect he's had. He swallows and tightens his grip on his bag.</p><p>“Oh.” Arthur looks down and away and throws his bag over his shoulder. He tugs on the strap. “Then we--” he clears his throat, “Then let’s go.” He punches Merlin's shoulder as he passes him. "And leave the sword, you look like an idiot."</p><p>There's a scoff and a clatter as Merlin does as he orders.</p><p>
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</p><p>The two make their way back to town on foot. They walk down the center road of town and amble around its perimeter, close enough for their shoulders to touch. The grass is dewy and cold and the moon blankets the earth in grey. Merlin chatters on about some long story that Arthur doesn't mean to tune out but can’t keep his focus on.</p><p>It would be so easy to take Merlin’s hand like this, where no one could see. Merlin would swing their hands together in big, obnoxious arcs as he talked, and Arthur would pretend to hate it even as he held on like Merlin was a lifeline. </p><p>Arthur clasps his hands behind his back and looks off into the trees.</p><p>"So Gwen is screaming her head off, there's blood everywhere, I've still not figured out what to do with the hand, and--" Merlin stops when he realizes Arthur isn't following him. "Are you even listening?" He asks, and takes the few steps it takes to make it back where Arthur is standing.</p><p>"Am I ever?" Arthur asks, only half present. He squints in the darkness, trying to pin down where he spotted a flash of movement. Merlin leans into Arthur's space to follow his line of sight.</p><p>"What do you see?" Merlin whispers, almost pressed against Arthur's back, and Arthur shoves him with an elbow to the chest.</p><p>"Bugger off, there's nothing. Just a trick of the light." He casts one more dubious look at the trees and carries onward. Merlin watches the treeline when he follows, with his hand reaching out and just barely touching between Arthur's shoulder blades.</p><p>"I have a bad feeling," he says.</p><p>"You always have a bad feeling, Merlin, you're a coward."</p><p>"And you're an idiot," Merlin answers. Arthur rolls his eyes, even as a smile twitches at his lips.</p><p>They make a lap around the town, and then a second to be safe, but no boogeyman tries to snatch them right out of their shoes. They stop where the road meets the trees and watch the town sleep from afar. Merlin chews his thumbnail with his eyebrows furrowed with worry. Arthur twists his mother's ring around his finger. His back prickles and he looks over his shoulder, but he sees nothing.</p><p>"Don't get angry," Arthur breaks the silence, "but perhaps it is something magical?" The argument he expects doesn't come.</p><p>There’s a soft pop, and then a rustle that turns into a heavy thump. He turns with his hand on the hilt of his sword, but he's met with a sharp pain in his neck before he can draw it from its scabbard. A wave of drowsiness crashes over him all at once. His limbs grow heavier in time with his rising panic, and the more the inside of him thrashes and fights the less his body wants to listen. He reaches for where he last remembers Merlin to be, but only swats at empty air. When he takes a step forward he falls to his knees.</p><p>Arthur's thoughts run as fast as molasses and his breaths slow and deepen. He struggles to keep his eyes open. Thick arms heft him up and he is powerless to stop them. </p><p>The last thing he feels is his boots dragging in the dirt and a hollow twist of dread in his stomach.</p><p>
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</p><p>His hands are asleep. </p><p>Arthur draws in a breath through his nose and slides his tongue over the roof of his dry mouth. His wrists are bound behind his back with iron manacles, and when he flexes his fingers they sting with pins and needles. He opens his eyes with the effort of lifting thousand pound weights and takes stock of where he is.</p><p>It’s a cell, dark but not pitch, with a stone floor so covered in dirt that it stains his pants with it. Iron bars serve as a door. His bag and sword are gone. Arthur’s heart pounds in his throat, but he forces a deep breath into his chest and maneuvers himself to sit.</p><p>Merlin lies across from him. His face is pale and his hair sticks to his brow with sweat. Sharp, shaky breaths huff from his lips.</p><p>The cell is small enough that if Arthur stretches his leg he can kick his boot, and that's exactly what he does.</p><p>“Merlin,” he hisses, and when no response comes he tries again. “Merlin, wake up.” He draws his leg back and kicks him as hard as he can manage. He receives a tiny little groan for all his effort. Merlin squints to see Arthur across the room. Beneath his fluttering eyelashes his eyes burn a bright golden.</p><p>“I’m 'wake,” he says, his voice like water over gravel. He shifts, and then stops when his mobility is limited by his bindings. He cranes his neck one way and then the other to observe their surroundings. His eyes are still golden when he looks back to his friend. “Wh-- uh, where?” </p><p>“I don’t know,” Arthur says. He watches as Merlin struggles to sit. When he finally manages it he rests his head back against the wall, out of breath. "What's wrong with you?" He asks. Merlin's eyebrows draw together and his lips curl into a frown.</p><p>“I'm sorry?”</p><p>"You look sick. And your eyes… they've got--"  he’s unable to make a gesture with his hands tied, and shrugs his shoulders instead, “you know.” Merlin looks between his eyes in confusion. “They’re glowing.”</p><p>“They’re glowing.”</p><p>“That’s what I said.” </p><p>"That's not good,” He says to himself. Merlin’s eyes only ever glow when he performs spells, and even then it's a mere flash of light before it disappears. The constant glint of two trapped fires in the dark is foreign and odd and exciting the way those things often are. It's inhuman - godly, almost. If Arthur watches closely the gold swirls in his irises like a whirlpool.</p><p>"I take it this isn't normal," Arthur says, no louder than a breath.</p><p>“No,” he says. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it once more and swallows. Arthur watches the movement with a tightness in his own throat. "Say, Arthur, could you assume we've been bound in iron?" he asks, and Arthur quirks an eyebrow.</p><p>"What else would you make shackles out of?" Arthur asks. Merlin presses his lips together and shrugs. “What’s wrong with iron?” Merlin lets out a low laugh from his throat.</p><p>“You really don’t know a damn thing about magic,” he says.</p><p>“You’d think that I would have retained some knowledge of it in the handful of days after my birth that it was legal,” Arthur says blandly, and Merlin’s smile stretches wide across his face.</p><p>“Sorry,” he says. He stares Arthur down. Light filters through his eyelashes and makes every tiny movement of his eyes all the more noticable, and Arthur shifts under his gaze. “Iron has anti-magic properties. It--" his manacles jingle together like he's trying to gesture with his hands behind his back, "hurts us. Creatures of magic I mean. Most of the druids I know get nothing more than headaches, but I once heard of a faerie burned to a crisp by it. <em> Poof </em>. Just… gone.”</p><p>Arthur takes in a sharp breath. He says, “And you?” Merlin hums and raises his eyebrows.</p><p>“I’ve never been bound in iron before,” he says, “so we’ll find out.”</p><p>“Well… tell me if you feel as if you’ll burst into flames.”</p><p>“But of course, your majesty," Merlin says.</p><p>"It's highness," Arthur answers, and Merlin rolls his eyes. Arthur tucks his legs under him and leans forward to shuffle across the cell on his knees. He lowers himself back down at Merlin’s side with a grunt of effort. Their sides are pressed together. Merlin’s skin is burning next to his. “Everything is going to be fine,” he says gently, and shoves Merlin’s shoulder with his own.</p><p>“Of course it is,” Merlin says, “no one has a chance against me and you.” He gives that winning smile once again, and Arthur can't help but answer with his own.</p><p>
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</p><p>There are no windows in their cell to gauge the time. No guards pass by their cell, and they are given no food or water. Merlin’s eyelids hang low with exhaustion. His head comes to rest on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur doesn’t move a centimeter for fear of waking him.</p><p>It does not miss his recognition that Leon and Tobyn must be awake by now, and they must be going out of their minds.</p><p>Arthur sits motionless with his thoughts running faster than any horse could for what feels like hours before the silence breaks with a crash and the jingling of chains.</p><p>Then there’s singing.</p><p>It echoes down the corridor they’re in with a drunken slur. Arthur tenses and shoves Merlin until he wakes with a grumble and a few choice words. </p><p>“<em> Oh, what shall we do with the drunken sailor? </em> ” It sings, out of tune and off rhythm, “ <em> What shall we do with the drunken sailor? What shall we do with the drunken sailor - early in the MOOOORNI-- </em>” The singing stops as a man stumbles into view, his brown hair mussed and his eyes glazed with drink. There’s a bruise that digs under his eye and his lip is busted. His hands are bound behind him the same as Arthur and Merlin, but from how he sways on his feet and the guard at his side pays him no mind it’s only for show. His eyes catch up to his smile a moment too late when he says, “New blood!”</p><p>The guard unlocks the cell opposite to them and the man waltzes in on his own accord. He bows, but goes off kilter and almost falls. He laughs, joyous and broken all at once, as he straightens himself again.</p><p>“Stay out of trouble, Gwaine,” the guard says, and Gwaine groans and throws his weight against the wall. His boots skid on the floor as he sinks down. His head lolls to the side as he looks up at the guard.</p><p>“I always do, Olwen,” he says, his voice light with innocence.</p><p>“Olyen.”</p><p>“Whatever,” he laughs, and relaxes against the wall. The guard, Olyen, leaves with a scoff. He doesn’t notice the other two prisoners, or if he does he certainly doesn't show it.</p><p>Not a moment after the guard is out of sight Arthur is moving to the iron bars and glaring at Gwaine through them. He pulls his shoulders back and keeps his posture straight in a weak attempt at confidence.</p><p>“Who the hell are you?” He asks, and Gwaine huffs a laugh. “Where are we?”</p><p>“I’m Gwaine,” he says, “and you’ve landed yourself in the last place you will ever be.” Arthur’s lip curls. He’s just about tired of people and their riddles.</p><p>“That doesn’t mean anything--”</p><p>“Well I’m Merlin,” he pipes up from behind. There’s a grunt and shifting dirt as Merlin shuffles, unhurried, to sit beside Arthur at the bars. He tilts his head in Arthur’s direction. “That one’s Arthur.”</p><p>“Nice to meet you, Merlin,” Gwaine says. He fits his face between the iron bars of his cell’s door. He makes a show of looking Merlin up and down. “You have lovely eyes.” A crooked grin graces Merlin’s lips. Arthur’s glare intensifies.</p><p>“Thank you, they’re my father’s.”</p><p>“Is he the faerie king?” Arthur can see Gwaine’s wink from across the hall. Merlin looks up to the ceiling and snorts. His cheeks flush pink despite his pallor and his eyes crinkle when he looks upon Gwaine again.</p><p>“Might be.” Merlin draws his knee to his chest. “How long have you been here?”</p><p>“Do I come here often, you mean,” Gwaine says, and is rewarded with another light chuckle. “I couldn't tell you. Long enough.” Arthur’s head tilts in confusion.</p><p>“What were you doing with the guard from before?” Arthur asks, his tone a touch sharper than Merlin’s. Gwaine takes a moment to answer, takes a moment to move his gaze off of Merlin.</p><p>“Celebrating. The champion joins the feast when he wins a match.”</p><p>“Champion?” Arthur takes in the man before him. His skin is marred by scars both old and new. His knuckles are swollen and red. His clothes are ragged and dirty, but they aren’t worn down with age. They’ve been ripped and torn. Blood stains a tunic that was once blue but is now a grungy kind of gray.</p><p>What kind of <em> champion </em> is kept prisoner like this?</p><p>The pieces fall together all at once, and terror clamps down around his heart. His blood goes ice cold.</p><p>“We need to get out of here. Now.” Merlin lets out a shocked laugh that dies on his lips when he looks into Arthur’s eyes. He glances between the two men, Gwaine slumped against the door with his easy smile tightening into something sad and forced and Arthur with his every muscle rigid. </p><p>“I don’t-- what? Arthur--”</p><p>“Merlin.” His voice is low and serious as the grave. Merlin’s eyebrow quirks in confusion, but when Arthur doesn’t relent his shoulders slump. He presses his lips together and lets out a breath through his nose. </p><p>“What do you need me to do?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i hope you liked it! i used to have a no cliff-hanger rule bc i'm so bad at updating on a schedule but uhh if i didn't find a place to stop this chapter it was gonna go on for like 20k. as one does. next chapter hopefully sooner than this last update, with escape plans and sword fights and lots of bickering (so... the usual)</p><p>thank you for reading! - yoyo</p>
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